


Constants and Variables

by quantumlevitation



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: F/M, Lutecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:07:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 24,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumlevitation/pseuds/quantumlevitation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Happy Halloween, all!</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Thursday, October 26, 1893

Robert’s eyes closed again over the same paragraph that he’d read three times. He had gone through the tear specifically to retrieve this paper, which expanded in several important ways upon his work-their work-and now he couldn’t keep his eyes open long enough to get through even a single sentence without nodding off. 

It was, he finally admitted to himself, that he was not getting enough sleep. At first, their shared sleeping arrangements had been practical. He needed constant care when he first came into this world and Rosalind had been there to provide it for him, waking up at all hours of the night to rinse off the blood and give him sips of broth and the infusions that she’d made for him. She even, he’d learned, transfused her own blood into him, as he had lost so much so quickly. He did remember, though, when she had discovered that music soothed him, and she sang to him until she fell asleep. 

He had recovered faster after she had stumbled on music as a treatment for him. She made his favorite food (reveling, he thought, in the favorites they shared and the variables), went through tears to find his favorite music. His progress was slow, but every day he was able to do a bit more and stay on his feet a bit more. 

With his recovery, though, certain feelings were starting to assert themselves, and for the last few nights he’d woken up aroused and had to go down into the living room and bring himself relief. He was not sure if Rosalind was aware of his journeys, but she was a light sleeper and was probably awoken at least a little by his getting out of bed. She gave no sign, though, when he came back. 

He set the book down. She referred to him as brother, though it was true that there was no actual word in the language for what he really was, and brother was the easiest way to explain his presence to the citizens of Columbia. He had never been particularly interested in a relationship, preferring to focus on his work and relieve his occasional desires with women who were paid for the task. 

He realized, though, that it was that he had never met such a woman, who shared his passions and interests. Egotistical, probably, but he loved her. And wanted her. His only thought when he glimpsed her for the first time through the tear was that she was the most beautiful woman that he’d ever seen. Sleeping next to her, while comforting when he was weaker, had become a trial of will that he was unprepared to face. 

He had no idea, though, if she felt the same way, or would be disgusted by the very thought. He was not entirely comfortable with the idea himself, and in his hours away from her he would think that he had been able to set it aside. Then he would see her again, spend an afternoon talking with her and at the end his heart would be aching and head spinning with love. 

Rosalind’s voice broke through his reverie. “Brother, you seem to be falling asleep. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m all right. Is there any tea left?”

“Just cold, I’m afraid. Would you like me to make some fresh?” 

“No, cold is fine. Thank you.” He poured himself a cup and took a sip. The bitterness seared down to his stomach, and helped to focus him. He took up the paper again for another try.


	2. Chapter 2

Robert spent the rest of the day reading and working things out on the chalkboard, pursuing a number of promising ideas that might make the tears safer, his main goal. He heard Rosalind in the hallway, and saw that she was dressed to go out. He remembered that it was Thursday, her night to meet with the Prophet to update him on the state of the city and the various mechanisms that were required to keep it functioning, as well as any advancements that they’d made in their work. 

He had gone to one of these meetings when he had first recovered. Comstock had spent the entire meeting addressing him, despite his public belief in the equality of the sexes, and did not listen to a thing Rosalind said unless Robert repeated it immediately afterward. When they arrived home, Robert said that he would not be attending any more of the meetings, and Rosalind wearily agreed. That was one of the first times he saw how much harder things must have been for her, and he never ceased to be amazed at how she had persevered. Her rougher edges, he surmised, had come from resisting this treatment over the years, whereas he had not had to battle to be heard due to his sex. 

“As usual, don’t wait up for me, Robert. You’ve seemed a bit tired and I think it would be best for you to lie down early tonight.” He nodded his assent and she left. 

Robert finished the section he was reading and set the book down. He spent a few moments in the kitchen preparing a sandwich and potato salad for Rosalind when she got home – though the meeting was nominally over supper, the Prophet’s household was run on austere lines, and there was neither quantity, nor variety, nor flavor to be found when dining in Comstock House. He placed it in the icebox and climbed the stairs to the bedroom they shared.

It would help tonight that he would be asleep when she came to bed. He undressed, hanging his clothes neatly in the closet, down to the layer in which he normally slept. He settled in bed and picked up the novel that he’d been reading, hoping that it would make him tired enough to fall asleep.

He became aware that the other side of the bed smelled like Rosalind, that sweet, light scent that she wore and the comfortable scent of a bed that had been slept in for a week. His mind drifted to the sight that had sent him downstairs last night, the nape of her neck lit by the moon and the short auburn curls at the base of her hair. She despaired of these and hated trying to pin them up, but he found them unspeakably erotic. 

He gave up pretending to read at this point and reached down and took his mostly hard cock in his hand, offering a brief plea to the universe that Rosalind would not finish her meeting early and walk in on him pleasuring himself to the thought of her. He knew that this was not going to take long, and whispered her name as he stroked himself faster. The thought of pushing into her as she moaned beneath him brought him over the edge, and he felt his seed hot against his palm. He let himself finish, then went over to wash his hands. 

He slept well that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Friday, October 27, 1893

The cold light of morning in Columbia was coming through the curtains when he woke late the next morning. Rosalind had already risen and he could hear the soft clicks of her writing on a chalkboard. 

He lay in bed until he was fully awake and then rose to dress. When he had put on his usual attire and rinsed his face and hands, he went downstairs.

Rosalind was in the study, working out a longish equation that he wasn’t quite sure that he was familiar with. She had erased many times, so he presumed that she was early in the process. 

“Thank you for the sandwich last night, Robert. Comstock’s kitchen staff surpassed themselves yesterday. I could tell neither what the food had been nor what it was intended to represent. Nutritious, though. You seem to have slept well?” 

“Yes, very well, thank you.”

“Give me a few minutes to finish this and I’d like to sit down and talk to you about how you’ve been doing.”

Robert turned red and turned away. “I’ll…just have some breakfast then.”

He had a slice of bread and cheese and felt marginally better. He wondered if she had noticed his absences in bed for the previous nights. 

“Your strength really seems to be returning, and you haven’t had a nosebleed for at least” – she consulted the notebook she had been keeping on his progress- “fourteen days now. How are you feeling?”

She was facing away from him, but he wished that she would turn so that he could read her expression. Her tone was neutral, that of a scientist gathering data. She walked over to him with the stethoscope and blood pressure cuff that she used to monitor his vital signs. “I wish we’d done this before you put your shirt on. I just want to check, it’s been a few days.”

She loosened his tie and slipped it over his head, setting it down on the table, and then reached out to take his jacket off and unbutton his shirt. He reddened and pushed her hands away. 

“I’ll…I’ll get it,” he rasped, shedding his layers as quickly as he could. In a few minutes he stood shirtless. She slipped the stethoscope into her ears and listened to his heart and lungs. He was finding the touch of her small, cool hands on his bare chest difficult to handle, and took a deep breath as he tried to control his body’s reaction to her closeness. 

She noted his pulse, then took his blood pressure. “A bit high today…you’re taking all of the supplements I’ve provided, yes?”

He nodded wordlessly. “Is anything bothering you? Nightmares, memories?” She looked down. “Oh.”

He realized that, despite his best efforts, his arousal had become evident. She looked at his face, and then looked down again. Her face was unreadable. Surprise? Disgust? Pity?

He found his voice. “Rosalind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. “

“What are you sorry for? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re an adult and you have an adult’s desires. I’m glad that you’ve recovered enough for…such a thing. Comstock can help find a nice girl for you to marry, and in the interim there’s a brothel down at Battleship Bay…very high class, I hear.”

He stared at her. For whatever reason – desire, exhaustion, stupidity – he found himself telling the truth. “No, Rosalind. It’s you I want.”

Rosalind stared at him.

He kept talking, though his higher self was pounding on the controls, trying to get him to stop. “You are…the most amazing woman I’ve ever had the honor to meet, or know. I know that that sounds incredibly egotistical—being that you’re me—and all—but I love you. I’ve known I loved you since I first saw you through the tear. And I can’t spend another night in that bed with you pretending that I don’t…feel the way I feel. I want you and I think I have to leave if I can’t have you.” He fell silent. A great yawning chasm opened under his rib cage, and remained, waiting to swallow him whole.

They looked at each other. Rosalind took a small step forward, then another, then she reached up and touched his face. She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to his, experimentally. He returned the kiss, letting her lead. The touch was soft, but he could feel it rolling through his chest and shaking him. 

She broke off and stepped away. “I…I need to think. I will be back this evening.” He stood and watched her slip out the front door into the market. He staggered over to a couch in the study and rested his head on a pillow. He seemed to be incapable of thought, though dread hung on his shoulders. While he was contemplating what it would take to open a tear to his previous universe and return, or if he had the willpower to throw himself off of the edge of Columbia, he fell asleep.

The sun was starting to set when he heard the front door opening. Rosalind came in with several bags of food from the market and took it to the kitchen. After she had set the bags down, she came in to the study and sat down next to him. 

“Put on a shirt. Come into the kitchen. Help me with dinner. We’ll talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

Rosalind put some kindling and coal in the stove to resurrect the fire from earlier. While it was catching, she took an onion and started chopping it. “Wash and cut the rest of the vegetables for me, will you? Cubes for beef stew.” He looked in the bag to find carrots and potatoes, and set to rinsing and chopping them. Having something straightforward to do was a considerable relief.

Rosalind started talking in a clear, precise voice, as if she was recording notes on a voxophone.

“I am sorry to have made you wait so long, but I wanted to make sure that my thoughts were clear before I came back and spoke to you about them. This is not a matter on which I would wish to go back on my word or make any unwise promises or assumptions. I hope that the afternoon was not too hard to endure, and I appreciate you not pursuing me or making a fuss trying to track me down.”

Still looking down, she continued.

“I want to say that I love you too, and I want to be with you. We’ll have to find some way to make this work in public, but I’m sure that we’re both clever enough to do so.”

She whisked the contents of her chopping board into the heated fry pan and the delicious smell of onions frying in butter filled the room. 

“I’ve had feelings for you since the beginning too, but I was too concerned with keeping you alive to talk to you about them. I’ve also been unsure if this level of intimacy would cause more problems for you, and I do not wish to cause you more suffering. My desire to meet you has already brought you through hell, and I will regret what I have put you through to my grave. If this has any ill effect on you, we will cease immediately.”

She indicated that Robert should place the carrots and potatoes into the frying pan, then added broth. She started browning some stew beef in another pan.

“Furthermore…I know we’ve talked some about how I haven’t had an easy path, but one of the things that I accepted many years ago is that I would never marry, or have any relationship. I have had men ask for my hand since I came to Columbia and Comstock has offered on several occasions to make a match for me, but I have never been able to trust that a man would permit me to continue my work. Furthermore, it has not been made clear to me that by the laws of Columbia my work and patents would remain my own, or, by custom, my person, and I do not intend that to happen.“

She mixed the stew beef into the broth and vegetables and moved the pan away from the main heat source so it could simmer. Robert added some thyme and a bit of sage. 

“But I am not without feelings. Dreams. Desires. I have been very lonely, and it has been hard. As typical as it might sound for a woman of science, I threw myself into my work. It seemed like the only rational choice, until I could find a man who would not be running desperately to catch up to me in an intellectual sense, or who would not strip my work away from me and force me to bear his children.”

“In all honesty, I’ve come to loathe myself for even wanting these things, holding nothing but the…barest contempt for my base desires, even that of simple companionship. Your presence, though…you have changed everything for me.”

They sat at the table in a long silence while the stew simmered. She took his large hands in her small ones, and continued in a voice much gentler than usual.

“You are me, are you not? You would never take my work away from me. I would never take my work away from me. We cannot marry, as we are, as far as the citizens are concerned, and in a strict genetic sense, kin. But as long as we can avoid detection…and I believe that we are both sterile from exposure to the machine…as long as no one knows, then yes, I will consent. To this. To you. I think the stew is done.”

The stew was done. Robert fetched bowls and ladled it out, and cut two slices of the crusty bread from Rosalind’s shopping. They sat together, at the kitchen table, both hungry. 

They finished their meals, washed the dishes, and banked the fire, setting the leftovers in the icebox for later. He turned and looked at her. There was no longer anything else to do or look at, and she met his gaze, flushing red under her freckles.

“Shall we, then? Upstairs?” she said, her voice wavering. Robert nodded and took her hand, and she led him up.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a fascinating thing, Robert thought, to see his sister, who normally carried herself with the utmost assurance, with such an uncertain look on her face as she shed each layer of clothing. 

“I am sure you know that…there will be no seduction here, nor any pouting or posturing,” she said as she turned to have Robert untie her corset. 

“No? What about this?” He ran his hand under her chin, and slid his trousers down so that just the end of his cock was exposed, then just as quickly hid it and looked at her with a coy expression. 

She was trying not to laugh, and failing. He slipped his hands under her chemise and pulled it slowly over her head. She gave him a small, wobbly smile and helped him unbutton his trousers and undergarments.

He had not put all of his clothing back on from earlier so it was a matter of seconds for him to drop everything on the floor – earning a dirty look from Rosalind, who was fastidious about their clothing – and pull her over to the bed.

They lay down next to each other. Robert took a moment to look at her body, its beauty even more intense than his imaginings. He pulled her in for a deep kiss, pressing the full length of his body up to hers, reveling in its warmth. He bent his head over her breasts, licking them and sucking her nipples. Her sharp intake of breath made him look up at her to make sure she was all right. The entranced look on her face encouraged him to go further, and he slid his hand into the darkness between her legs. 

She jumped away from him in surprise. “No…too fast. Please, brother, slow down.”

He slowed down, brought her face to his for another long kiss and held her close, then kissed her until she started to squirm underneath him, and then he pulled away.

“May I…touch you there?” he said quietly.

She nodded, and he slid one finger down between her lips. She was so wet, and warm, and tight, and he almost finished imagining how his cock would feel in that sweet place. A question formed in his mind, and he rested his hand for a moment. 

“Have you…done this before, Rosalind?”

“The full act? Once, a long time ago. It was not pleasurable, but at the time I felt it was necessary to complete my life experience. ”

“Not pleasurable. Is this time different, so far?” He slid his finger gently into her, and ran its wetness over her most sensitive area. She gasped.

“Yes. Yes. Have you?”

“I…occasionally…yes, when I was in my world, I occasionally…went to brothels, as you were so generously suggesting earlier. Though I was a poor physics professor and couldn’t often partake of their full services. I usually was only able to afford their, um, massage. Otherwise, I was too wrapped up in my work to court a woman to the point where she would even contemplate such a thing.”

She considered this. “Tonight, though, I’d like to…hold off. If that’s all right with you. I don’t feel ready. Another night, I assure you.”

He nodded. “When you’re ready. Not before.” 

She moved his hand back between her legs, and showed him where it pleased her most, and he happily complied, moving his fingers gently until she shuddered and whispered his name into his ear. When she calmed down, she put her hand on him and returned the favor, somewhat hesitant at first but gaining in confidence as she saw the effect it was having on him. Through his pleasure, Robert noted with some amusement the expression of clinical analysis and gleeful fascination she had on her face upon bringing him to orgasm. He rested his eyes for a moment, then by habit brought his hand up to his face. It came away from his nose clean. 

Rosalind propped herself up on one elbow and looked at his face. “No nosebleeds. Are you feeling all right?”

“I feel…better than I’ve ever felt in my entire life,” he said.

“Me too, brother.” She smiled and nestled up against him. 

He went to sleep that night with his face pressed against the back of her neck and his arm around her, in the happy terror of anyone who has gotten what he wants.


	6. Chapter 6

Saturday, October 28, 1893

The Luteces generally did not observe the weekend, so the fact that it was Saturday did not have much effect on their usual activities. Robert prepared a small breakfast for them, which they sat down to in silence. He was aware that he had a smile on his face, though, and Rosalind even had some softer lines in her usual stern expression, and she kept shooting him small looks that he eventually understood were intended to be smiles. 

“Brother, would you be interested in going to Battleship Bay today?”

Robert startled out of his reverie. “What? Isn’t it a bit cold for that?”

“Well, they do have that indoor pool with the windows. And you insisted upon buying those ridiculous bathing suits the last time we went to the sporting goods store. It would be a shame if they didn’t see use.”

“You do understand, sister, that swimming requires some amount of exertion, something I’ve been given to understand in the short time we’ve been together is anathema to you.”

“I thought you could swim, and I could sit and read and admire you.” She, he assumes, smiles again.

They pack up the swimsuits and towels, as well as several of the books that they’ve been wending their way through, and head off to the pool.

Once there, they part into their separate locker rooms. Robert takes his time disrobing, as a silent apology for the night before, and gives his clothes to the valet. It takes him a bit to figure out where all of the different buttons are supposed to go-he did not pay sufficient attention when unfastening them-but he manages, and admires himself in the mirror before stepping out into the pool area.

Rosalind has already secured two lounges for them and is sitting, garbed in her matching green-and-cream striped suit, with her nose already in the book that she brought along, and an enormous floppy hat perched atop her usual hairstyle.

“When they saw who it was, I was immediately offered every chair in the place. Fame has its rewards, I suppose.” she murmured. 

He set his things down on the open lounge and indicated that he was going to go for a swim. Lowering himself into the shallow end of the pool, he started swimming laps. It was clear that he was still weak from the blood loss, but he was able to manage about five laps before returning poolside to towel off and read. 

“Your strength seems excellent, brother. Don’t tire yourself out too much, though.”

“No, of course not. I was quite the swimmer before all of this. Five laps is a bit of an embarrassment, but in light of circumstances I’m quite proud.”

Rosalind considered this. “Hm, another variable. I’ve never learned to swim, nor donned a bathing suit until this afternoon.”

“You look stunning in it, though,” he says quietly.

“It fits well enough. It’s certainly a relief from a corset.”

Robert settled down and opened his book to the page he had been reading. They read in companionable silence for about an hour and a half when Rosalind decided that she was hungry. 

“There’s a small café down the way that I think is open. We could get a late lunch.”

Having retired to their respective dressing rooms, they meet up again in the concourse and walk down to the café. When they arrive, they find the café full to bursting, and despite the abased apologies of the owner they asked to have a box packed for them to take home. They select two pasta dishes and a bottle of wine, and the owner walks the orders into the kitchen himself. A boy returns about fifteen minutes later with a large box, and they set off for their home.

The boy sets the box in the kitchen. Robert gives him a few silver eagles and he runs off. He extracts the food and sets the table. 

They eat with good appetites from their day out, not speaking until they have sated themselves.

“So who was it, anyway?”

Rosalind looked puzzled. “Who was what?”

“The man.”

“Oh. A fellow student of mine named Benjamin. He was generally considered good looking and pleasant company, so I approached him with a proposition.”

“Wait, Benjamin Edwards?”

“Yes,” she drifts off with a disturbed look. “It just occurred to me that you may have known him.”

“He was a good friend of mine. I can only imagine…exactly how did you word this proposition of yours?”

“I said that I felt my virginity had long since outlived any usefulness it might have ever had, and that with suitable precautions he might be allowed to perform intercourse with me in order to relieve me of it on the condition that no further contact would be attempted.” 

“How…unbearably romantic. Unbearably something, at least.” 

“He seemed, for whatever reason, taken aback. I have never studied the womanly arts of seduction, but it seemed as if my approach worked well enough. He accompanied me back to my rooms, donned a prophylactic that I provided, and set about his task with some energy, though little finesse. He seemed to be having an excellent time, though I found it painful and rather abrupt.”

“Did he honor the agreement?”

“No! He tried to court me after that out of some mistaken sense of honor. I reminded him of our agreement and he eventually went away.”

Robert laughed. “My God. I wish I could go back and tell Ben exactly what he’d been getting up to in an alternate universe. He’d…”

“What? Is this funny?” Rosalind said with some asperity.

“Rosalind, you must know that that is not the sort of thing one does.”

“I have made my name for myself doing things that ‘one’ does not do. It is remarkably difficult to pick and choose the aspects of society in which one opts to participate.”

“Speaking of…that. Do you think we might go upstairs in a bit and…” He blushes. 

She grins. The grin seems to be struggling through her normally emotionless face, but it wins through in an expression of joy that makes Robert weak in the knees.


	7. Chapter 7

They go upstairs and separate to their respective armoires, disrobing and hanging their clothes neatly, stealing glances at each other the whole time. 

Robert assists with Rosalind’s corset again and they walk over to the bed that they have shared for so long. She maneuvers Robert onto his back and straddles his thighs, deepening her kisses further than last time. Robert closes his eyes and focuses, trying to hold himself back from thrusting into that darkness that is now so close. 

He reaches between her legs and tries to touch her exactly the way she showed him last time, and she moans and pushes herself up against his hand. She is about to take him into her when he says, “I want to make sure you’re ready.”

She lays down on her back the way he is asking her to move and he kisses between her breasts, down her stomach, and, with a brief look for permission, moves her legs apart and slides his tongue where his fingers had been. Rosalind is silent, her eyes closed. He starts to worry that she doesn’t like what he’s doing, but he feels her starting to make small movements, adding to the pressure of his tongue. He slides a finger inside of her, then two, in and out. This last almost sends him over the edge and he stops for a moment.

“Rosalind…I’m not going to last much longer…do you think we can try?”

She opens her eyes and nods, and he rises from where he was lying and settles himself between her legs. She helps to guide him in, and he enters her slowly, making sure that she is not in pain, and when he is all the way inside her he starts moving, propping himself on his elbows and kissing her neck. 

He pushes up on his arms to get a better angle and Rosalind reaches down and starts rubbing herself in gentle circles as he pushes into her harder. She is saying his name now, Robert, Robert, I love you Robert, and in a few moments feels her orgasm pulsing around him and he lets go, finally, pounding into her, and he says, Rosalind, and he opens his eyes, and sees her ecstatic face, and that is the end of him. He says her name again and again, like a mantra, as his movements slow. 

In a moment he can breathe again, and see again. His back and arms are aching from the swim earlier and his more recent exertions and he curls up against Rosalind, who has retrieved some of his semen with her fingers and is sniffing it, then tasting it. 

“You are never not a scientist, are you?” Robert murmurs. 

“Never. It is part of me…well, just like you are part of me.”

“I am you.”

“And I’ve discovered that I’m all right in bed.”

He smiles, sleep starting to overtake him. 

“Are you going to write this up for publication?”

“I’m not sure there’s any way to make that clinical enough to not get arrested. Perhaps for my personal archives. To be released after my death. Long, long after my death. You do not seem to have a nosebleed, by the way.”

Robert touches under his nose. “I feel fine. Excellent. Tired, though that’s no surprise.”

“Then get some sleep,” Rosalind smiles, and gets up to rinse herself off.

The last thing he hears, after the water running, is the scratching sound of Rosalind taking notes in her notebook that she keeps on him.


	8. Chapter 8

Wednesday, November 1, 1893

“Robert, I’m trying to read and you’re in my light.”

“Ah. Is this better?” She feels his lips move down to her neck.

“Well, you’re at least out of my light, though you are still distracting me.”

“I think you’ve got part of that diagram backwards,” he says, kissing the curls at the base of her hair. 

“Wha-oh, you’re right. There it is.”

She erases the offending part of the wiring sketch and replaces it with the correct notation, then goes back to working with the prototype she had been assembling. He takes the opportunity to nibble on the back of her ears.

“At least there’s some reason to keep you around.” 

“Some reason? I’d say there’s at least three reasons.”

“Really, three? I’d love to hear them.”

“One, I’ve had more experience with electrical engineering than you have.”

“Ok, that’s the one I was thinking of. What are the other two?”

“I make excellent potato salad.”

“True. You do. Especially when you put mustard in it. Is there another?” 

He pulls her skirt up, slides his hand between her legs. “This.”

“Ah. That.” She feels his hardness pressing up against her back. 

“Robert, that is…ooh…making it hard for me to concentrate.” His fingers have found their goal. She is attempting to read, but the words keep scrambling in front of her eyes. 

“Oh. Really. What a shame.”

“Robert, I really must get through this reading tonight if I’m going to…” She tries to read for another minute or so, but he persists in his motions, and she closes her eyes and moans. “Fine. Fine. Right here. Do it. Quickly, I need to finish this part.”

She steps onto a small elevation next to the workbench that she occasionally uses to get more leverage on a difficult job and he obliges. Any slight uncertainty that he might have had about her interest is gone when he enters her to find her dripping wet. 

He tries to move slowly at first but soon finds himself unable to hold back from slamming into her with some force. Rosalind’s sly look back at him only encourages him to go faster. She is making these small moans when he makes contact that he thinks are going to finish him every time, but it just keeps building until he shudders to his climax, and feels hers at the same time. 

“That was…excellent. I had not imagined that a different position might produce such different sensations. Also, it seems to be a constant, brother, that we climax at the same time.”

“So far. We will have to obtain a statistically significant sample, however.” 

“I have no objection to that, though if you continue to interrupt me while I’m working, I may have to exact some punishment on you.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

They clean themselves up and return to working on the part that Rosalind was constructing, together now. Neither of them hears the rustle of feathers outside the window as the raven takes flight.


	9. Chapter 9

Thursday, November 2, 1893

Rosalind and Robert’s steps echo off the walls of Comstock House as they cross the bridge and employ the immense knocker. A young dark-skinned girl in an elaborate maid costume opens the door.

“We are here to see Mr. Comstock.”

“Of course, Madame Lutece. And your brother, too, how nice to see you, M’seur. Please come this way. Father Comstock is expecting you.”

The Luteces exchange glances as the maid leads them down the hallway. They had received a telegram about an hour ago requesting Robert’s presence tonight with no reason given. It was not the kind of summons one refused, however, so he dressed and accompanied Rosalind through Emporia.

The table was set for three. Comstock was already seated at the table, going over some papers. He set them aside, face down, when they entered.

“Madame Lutece. Monsieur Lutece. Welcome.”

They murmured a response and took their seats at the table. The servants brought out a number of dishes, then retreated to the kitchen.

“We will serve ourselves tonight, as there is something I wish to discuss.”

Robert took a few bites of the food, and realized that Rosalind had not been exaggerating. A large sip of water allowed him to swallow the tasteless sludge.

Comstock took a few bites, then turned to Rosalind with an amused look on his face. “Well. May I be the first to extend my congratulations, Madame Lutece, at having at last found a man who meets your exacting standards. I cannot say that it surprises me, having known you for so long, that you were holding out for yourself.” 

Rosalind turned pale. “I…what is your meaning, Comstock?”

“So many years, Madame Lutece, have I offered you the hands of all the eligible bachelors in Columbia – men of great wealth, education, the most excellent Caucasian stock. I had hoped that you could ensure your legacy and your family lineage by allying yourself with one of them.” 

“Now I find you engaged in an extramarital sexual relationship with your twin, of all people. Did you take a moment to examine Columbia’s criminal code before beginning your incestual dalliance? Imprisonment in the stocks for three days, then stoning until death.”

With a leer, he said, “And while in the stocks, if the local gentlemen, or ladies, care to make use of you, you will be made available to them. Both of you.”

Robert felt as if he was floating several feet above his head. He was sure that he was blushing, but was powerless to stop it, or to make any move. Rosalind seemed to have turned to stone.

“…How?” she said.

“A good father watches over his children, Madame Lutece, with an eye that slumbers not. You may want to be a bit more wary of your…avian neighbors.”

Neither of them seemed capable of offering a response, so Comstock continued.

“I am deeply disappointed in both of you, but the Lord-the Lord offers us His infinite forgiveness, and can I do any less? You have been my most faithful servants, so I can be persuaded to…avert my eyes. Forget what I know.”

“On one condition.” he said.

Robert did not know what Comstock wanted, but he could see that Rosalind did, and it sickened her. 

“Yes. I will…I will do that for you,” she said.

Comstock beamed. “It will be an excellent atonement. My silence, for yours, and for the child. You will start work immediately and inform me of any progress.”

He wrote on a small piece of paper, folded it, and passed it to Rosalind. “Here is where you can start looking. “

“You two are a charming couple, if an abomination before all that is holy.”

Comstock rose, bowed, and left them alone in the dining room. Robert and Rosalind finished their dinners without looking at each other and the maid showed them to the door. 

Walking home, they passed under a streetlight. Rosalind took the paper from her pocket, unfolded it, then passed it to Robert without a word.

It read, “Booker DeWitt, Seventh Cavalry, Wounded Knee.”


	10. Chapter 10

November 20, 1893

Rosalind set the deep red wax on the fold of the letter, heated her signet in a candle, and pressed it down. She handed the letter and a few coins to the messenger girl and she took off running towards Comstock House. She set down the signet in its case and bowed her head.

“Are you ready for this, Rosalind?”

“No. I doubt I will ever be.”

They spent the time before Comstock’s arrival going through the pre-travel checklists on the machinery that they employed before opening a tear. Everything appeared to be in working order. The front door opened and Comstock was there. His eyes glistened with joy and anticipation.

He closed the door against the November wind. “Let us pray before this great undertaking.”

He held out his hands to them, and they, after an awkward pause, took them and bowed their heads.

“We pray to you, our Founders, that I will be granted my heir in order to continue your noble work in Columbia, and that we may bring her up to drown in flame the mountains of man, and destroy the Sodom below. Amen.”

They mumbled, “Amen.” 

Rosalind took her place at the machine’s controls. “Mr. Comstock.”

“Father, child. Father.”

“Father Comstock. We have made arrangements for you and Robert to pay the three gambling establishments to whom Mr. DeWitt owes money. When you bring him the receipts, he will give you the child. You will then return to the tear and this world.”

“Excellent. If there are no further preparations, let us begin.”

Rosalind flipped the required switches and the machine started to pulse with electricity. Once she was satisfied that it was powered up to the correct level, she began to slide the switch that opened the tear. 

She looked at Robert, and though she had been trying to ignore it, fear seized her heart. They had decided earlier that it would attract less attention if Robert went through, as women did not generally frequent gambling parlors. It took every ounce of her strength to keep opening the tear for them, though her mind was screaming against it. Then they were through, and she sat down, and watched the tear, and tried not to contemplate a world where Robert did not return to her. 

Then, through the tear, she heard pounding on a door, and Robert shouting.

“Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt. We had an agreement, Mr. DeWitt!”

More shouting, then quieter voices. Then, without warning, Robert climbing out of the tear, and a man fighting Comstock over a beautiful little girl. Rosalind is screaming for them to come through, that she can’t keep it open much longer, and Comstock is free and he brings the girl through but her finger, her finger is split open as the tear closes, and there is blood everywhere and the child screaming. They rush her to the kitchen where the medical supplies are and stanch the bleeding, wrapping the finger in a tight bandage. 

Once the bleeding is stopped Comstock wraps the girl in a blanket that he had brought and charges out into the night. Rosalind has been shutting down the machine so she has been too busy to notice that Robert is getting paler by the minute, and without any warning he passes out, blood flowing from his nose.


	11. Chapter 11

December 24, 1893

Christmas went more or less unnoticed in the Lutece household that year. After collapsing, Robert had continued to hemorrhage from his nose for four days, and had lost much of the strength that he had gained since his arrival. She had had to give him a pint of blood at the beginning and then one a few days later, and though she had improved the transfusion process in ways that had made it easier on her, neither of them was up to decorating or buying presents. 

Robert had little recollection of the first week or so afterwards, and had remained weak and unable to walk more than about ten feet without getting light-headed for another several days. When he finally screwed up the courage to look in the mirror, he noticed that his hair had started to show streaks of white, and there were lines around his eyes and mouth that had not been there before. Rosalind had also aged in similar ways. 

He wanted to work, but tired easily, and sometimes the words swam in front of his eyes until he set the book down in despair. Rosalind had been both tending him and shouldering the entire burden of taking care of the city, and she was run ragged. Her usual glass of single malt in the evening had become three or four, and there was more than one occasion that Robert had come downstairs to find her asleep, fully clothed, in the chair that she favored in the living room. 

On those nights he woke her just enough to get her up the stairs – he could not lift her, but he could walk up the stairs with her – undressed her and laid her down in bed, curling up behind her. Sometimes on these nights she would roll over and kiss him, shoving her tongue deep into his mouth, and slide her hand down onto his cock, slurring that she loved him. It cost him dearly to push her away and stroke her hair until she fell asleep, but even if he thought he would be capable he preferred her sober and willing rather than half-asleep and drunk. She did not mention it the next morning and Robert was uncertain as to whether she remembered. 

Besides, they had not talked about that day, and Robert felt that they should at least address it before resuming relations. He had been putting it off, first from physical weakness and then because Rosalind gave no sign that she was interested in discussing the matter. However, he was feeling well and had managed a twenty-minute walk around Emporia at Rosalind’s side. They arrived home and worked in silence for a while, and then the maid announced dinner.

Rosalind had had to engage some domestic help while Robert was sick, as she did not have the energy to tend to the house. The girl was young, but an excellent cook, and knew enough to keep her counsel. Rosalind did not doubt that she was a spy for Comstock or Fink or both, but she appreciated her assistance and did not show any un-sisterly affection for her brother in the eight hours a day that she was in the house. 

They ate, and the maid cleared the table, and when she was done with the dishes she sketched a brief curtsey and left. Robert took Rosalind’s arm and they went into the living room where they often ended the evening reading. She deposited him in his usual chair and sat down in hers. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but did not speak. Robert found he had a question, so he asked it. 

“How is the child?”

“Elizabeth?”

“Anna.”

“No, Comstock has named her Elizabeth.” Rosalind looked at him and took a deep breath. “Robert, I haven’t wanted to trouble you with this, but I feel it merits discussion, and you should really know.”

“Lady Comstock was absolutely furious when the child was presented to her, and has stated that she doesn’t want the child anywhere near her. I suppose, to her less than keen mind, the presence of a child who is of Comstock’s descent but not hers can only mean one thing, but she did not at all understand when I tried to explain the truth to her. The woman went so far as to accuse me of seducing that disgusting man, and bearing the child.” 

“So they are building a facility in Monument Island, where she will be kept. Comstock has engaged several women to tend her in shifts round the clock. They will not be allowed to leave.”

“I…I generally do not give much thought to the ethics of what I do, brother, but this bothers me more than I care to admit, and I’m not sure what to do. I also feel just stupid for thinking that he wouldn’t find out about us. Naïve.”

“I never imagined he’d use the Zealots as spies.” 

“Nor I.” 

Robert got up and put another log on the fire. He sat back down and took a deep breath, blew it out. “I apologize for being this blunt, but should we continue?”

Rosalind’s face twitched, and she looked away. “If you want to stop, we’ll stop.”

“No. That’s not what I mean. You said when we first started that you didn’t want anyone to know. Now someone does. I’ll be honest, Rosalind, sixty percent of me loves you and wants you and would take you right here on the floor. But there’s another voice that keeps saying that we just bought a baby from a drunk for a madman because we didn’t want anyone to know about us, and we’re making others suffer for our pleasure.”

“And, while I’m ranting, what is this damned nonsense about his seed drowning in flame the mountains of man? It sounds like something out of primitive myth.”

She reddened. “He saw, through a tear, one night, a vision of Columbia, led by a woman, attacking New York City. He chose to see that she was-how did he put it at the time-purifying what he calls the Sodom below. He could see that she was his daughter.”

“And we are going to stand by and let him do this?”

“Brother, I said no. I refused to help him using the tears. I refused…brother, he has also asked me to provide him an heir in a…more traditional way. I refused him. He did not take that well. He saw his chance with this. If this hadn’t been the case we’d be out in the square getting fucked by half of Columbia right now.”

They sat and watched the flames for awhile. Rosalind looked directly at Robert, a rare thing. “I…well, I’ve missed you. And I’m sorry for being so forward when I’ve had too much.”

“I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”

“I remember.”

A pause.

“She is a beautiful child. Have you been to see her?”

“I’ve observed her. I must tell you that I feel little in the way of maternal affection. The nurses seem excellent, though.”

“I’d like to go see her. Do you think they’ll let me in?”

“To…do what?”

“I don’t know, play with her? Give the nurse a break?”

“Robert, do you like children?”

“I do. Several of my colleagues had children, and I spent time with them. They’re really rather fun to be around, as long as you can hand them back when they start to smell.”

Rosalind stared at him as if he’d just admitted to some peculiar appetite. “Well, perhaps I have a job for you.”

“What?”

“They’ve asked me to supervise her education when she gets old enough. I have gathered materials on the topic, but had no idea where to start on the execution.”

“Of course I’ll do it! Teach her to read, write, some quantum physics…” He was positively glowing. 

Rosalind’s relief was evident. “Er. Good. That solves that issue. What a mercy. For all of us.”


	12. Chapter 12

January 1895

A bit of fluff before getting back to the plot, such as it is.

One of the most pleasant surprises about his new home, other than its current occupant, had been the enormous bathtub. He had been awed when Rosalind first showed him the tiled room, with almost three-quarters of the square footage comprising a sunken bath. There was natural light through frosted windows, and vines growing in small planters built into the wall. It was one of his favorite things on a cold evening to fill the bath and sit in it until he was warm all the way through.

 

It had been an especially cold day, and their walk back from Monument Island had chilled him to the bone. He had spent several hours playing with Elizabeth while Rosalind consulted with the nurse and took notes about her development, and while chasing her around playing monsters he had gotten very warm. The first step out into the evening air was all right, but as soon as they were exposed to the wind he could feel the cold settling in his bones with a familiar finality. 

From experience, he knew there was only one thing for it, and so as soon as they arrived home he started filling the bath and disrobing. When the bath was full, he stepped in and relaxed as the heat seeped into his limbs, chasing away the deep chill. 

He heard footsteps coming down the hall, and the door opening.

“Do you mind if I join you? I’m frozen.”

“No, not at all. Let me run a bit more hot, I think I’ve absorbed most of the warmth.”

After a while, Rosalind stepped into the room in her chemise. She was finishing up the long braid that she wore at night, and wrapped it into a bun to keep it out of the water. She hung the chemise on a hook and eased into the water, gliding to sit next to him. He put his arm around her and pulled her in close, smelling her hair. It never ceased to fascinate him how she could smell so familiar and yet so different.

“Oh, that feels much better.”

“Warming up?”

“Yes. I’ve asked Comstock on several occasions to move the city somewhere warmer in the winter months, but he seems to think that the cold is spiritually important.”

Robert sighed. “I’ve long since given up attempting to understand him.”

“You and me both, brother. Though it would be an advantage to be able to foresee his actions at times.”

A pause. “Elizabeth seemed happy to see you today.”

“She was in a cheerful mood. I’m always a bit worried about her, being as isolated as she is, but she seems naturally disposed to be happy. She’s clever, too. She can recognize most of the alphabet now and the numbers up to twenty.” 

“So the nurse said. That seems consistent with proper development, according to the books I’ve consulted.”

Robert was silent for a moment. “It does seem at this point that we are not able to have a child—“

“—not that it would be a wise idea—“ Rosalind said.

“—so I’m grateful to be able to spend time with her. ”

“Did you want me to bear your child, brother? Even knowing the problems that would cause?”

“I can want two different things at the same time, Rosalind. I can even want things that I know are terrible ideas.” He tried to keep his voice gentle. “If that had really been my goal, I’d have made that choice a long time ago.”

She sighed. “I am realizing that I do not detest children quite as much as I thought. I think, when you are told from your own childhood that they are your right and proper destiny, that one can develop a knee-jerk hatred of them, without ever gathering any evidence for or against. Unscientific of me, really.”

“I can see that happening. I was expected to have them, but I was never told that it was the only thing I should do with the rest of my life.”

Rosalind raised her head to face him. “A variable, then, one related less to chance than the insufferable attitudes of our time.”

She brought her face close to his, looking into his eyes, the shared blue intensified by the dim light in the room, and moved until she was sitting astride him, the beads of water running down her luminous skin, freckles everywhere, each one identical to his. 

She reached her nose out to touch his, then bent her lips over his in a light kiss. Robert deepened the kiss and brought his hand up to the back of her head, pulling her closer to him, his other hand resting on her hip. He knew she could feel the effect that her closeness was having on him by now, and she smiled as she settled in tighter, rubbing her body back and forth across his length. He nibbled down her neck and ears and she arched her back with a low moan.

They kissed and held each other, then, without preamble, Rosalind took his cock in her hand and guided him into her, sliding up and down on him with some energy. Robert drew in breath with the pleasure of it, and the surprise – she was, to say the least, disinclined to take the active role in their lovemaking. 

He leaned back to watch her take her enjoyment from him, and she came in for a ferocious kiss, biting his lip gently when she was finished. She closed her eyes as she moved faster. Robert could feel his climax building and he rested his head back. Rosalind’s movements on top of him had reached a peak and he set his hands on her hips to steady her. Her breathing was ragged and she was saying his name over and over, and he relaxed and let himself finish, the sound of her voice in his ears. 

Her movements slowed, and she rested her head on his shoulder. 

“That was exhausting. But excellent. It seems as if you enjoyed yourself.”

“Immensely. Though I feel like I could sleep for ten days now. And the water is cold.”

They rinsed themselves off, got out, and drained the bath. The house was cold, so they raced to the bed and climbed under the covers. Rosalind snuggled under Robert’s arm.

“And you had best not steal the blankets tonight, brother.”

“I have never stolen a blanket from you.”

“Ha! A vicious lie.”

“When you abandon them in the fervent thrashings that you call sleep, I merely accept them as my own. That is not theft. That is repurposing. “

Rosalind murmured something incomprehensible in response, and he could feel her breath steady and slow against his arm. “Sleep well, sister,” he said, dropping a kiss on her head and drifting off himself.


	13. Chapter 13

July 1895

The pounding on the door in the darkness wakes them both at the same time. They look at each other in a moment of panic, then Robert gets out of bed, dons a dressing gown, and descends the stairs, heart pounding. 

He opens the door and one of Comstock’s young assistants is standing outside, his clothes in some disarray. 

“Mr. Lutece, there’s been…an incident up at Monument Island. We—“

Robert interrupts him. “Nothing’s happened to Elizabeth?” 

“No, she’s fine. Father Comstock has requested that you both attend him, though.”

“All right, then. Please take a seat in the parlor while we dress. I will have to ask that you remain seated and do not wander about. The machinery is extremely dangerous.”  
“Yes, sir.” The young man, trained to obedience by Comstock, sits down and remains, immobile. Robert ascends the stairs, making sure that the man doesn’t get up, and finds Rosalind already partly dressed. 

“Get my corset, will you?”

Robert hushes her. “He’s still downstairs. Speak quietly.”

“What’s going on?”

“Something at Monument Island. He wouldn’t say more, he just said that Comstock wants to see us. Elizabeth is all right, though.”

They finish dressing in silence and hurry, out the door along the dark streets, straining to see anything that might provide a clue as to what has happened. 

They enter the facility, passing through the myriad doors, with the smell of smoke in their noses, and finally find Comstock consulting with a small group of his elite Founder’s Guards. The officer listens carefully to his orders, which they cannot hear, and then barks a command to the men standing in the back of the room. They are escorting a prisoner, none too gently.

Comstock stops them with a raised palm. “Take care of him, gentlemen. Mr. Fink needs him in good condition.”

“Yes, Father Comstock.” The soldiers vanish into the night with the prisoner. 

“Robert. Rosalind. I am glad to see you. As you may be aware, there are some impure hearts in Columbia, and while I had thought I had purged this Eden of their taint, some still remained, and they have attempted to kidnap my sweet Lamb.”

“Where is Elizabeth?” Robert demands.

“In one of the inner rooms, being tended by the remaining nurses.”

Robert runs in the direction that Comstock is pointing, and Rosalind is left alone with him. “Remaining nurses?”

“Yes. The night nurse had been conspiring with one of the maintenance men to take Elizabeth and hand her over to my political enemies. She was regrettably killed in the fray. The maintenance man was only slightly injured…Mr. Fink was here earlier and has some ideas regarding his rehabilitation.”

“Rehabilitation. I see. What did you need us for?”

Comstock looks at her. “The day nurse reported…that after the explosion occurred, Elizabeth reached into another world for a teddy bear, which they had given up for lost, and pulled it into this world. I would have dismissed it as traumatic psychosis, but…it’s still open. In her room.”

Rosalind stared at Comstock, then walked back through the rooms to Elizabeth’s bedroom. 

“Where is the day nurse?”

“I sent her back to bed so that she could get some sleep.”

The tear – it is a tear! – is still across the room, glowing faintly. Elizabeth is curled on the bed, clutching the teddy bear, Robert gently stroking her back. Tears glisten on her face in the darkness.

“Lizbeth, Rosa’s here.”

“Hi, Rosa,” Elizabeth says faintly. “Can I have a lullaby?”

“In a minute. Elizabeth, what is this thing across the room?”

“Oh, it’s a window. I open them sometimes. They have candy in them.”

“Can you close them again?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth looks over and her face takes on an expression of focus. The tear gets smaller and then winks into nothingness.

Robert regains the power of speech. “Elizabeth, we’re going to come talk to you tomorrow about this. Until then, could you promise me not to open any more windows?”

Elizabeth nods, exhausted now from the effort. “Can I have my lullaby now?”

Rosalind looks at Robert with some trepidation. “Yes, of course. Robert?”

“No, I want you, Rosa.” Elizabeth says.

“Oh, all right.” She pulls up a chair by the bed and sits down.

“Can I have ten lullabies?”

“You can have all the lullabies you want tonight,” Robert says.

He continues rubbing her back gently while Rosalind starts to sing. 

“Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree-top,  
when the wind blows, the cradle will rock,  
when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall,  
and down will come Lizzie, cradle and all.”

Rosalind continues singing, verse after verse, gaining confidence with each round as she sees that Elizabeth is settling down and her breathing is slowing. When they are sure that she is asleep, Robert leans over and kisses Elizabeth’s hair, and they step out of the room and down the hall.

A barricade has been erected to block the hole in the wall, and Comstock’s soldiers are standing guard as well. The Luteces nod at the men and women as they walk by.  
Robert speaks. “Is that what Mother sang to you?”

“Yes. You?

“Same. Not that it’s an uncommon lullaby.”

They walk in silence for a while.

“This is going to be a problem, you know.”

“I know. Let’s get some sleep and talk about it tomorrow.”


	14. Chapter 14

Early next morning, July 1895

“What have you unnatural—heathens—done to my daughter?”

Robert glared. “We have done nothing. No experiments aside from simple observation. Out of respect for you, we have stayed our hands and let the child grow up as naturally as she can under such unnatural circumstances.”

“No. That is not true. We have gone and spent time with her. Taught her. Played with her. Things that you have not roused yourself to do, Comstock,” Rosalind said. 

“As you may recall from some rather heated discussions that you had with her, Lady Comstock would not permit me to have anything to do with the child.”

“That is no longer an issue, however. For which, as we have expressed, we are both truly sorry.”

Robert said, “There is precious little literature in any era regarding our work, and certainly nothing whatsoever regarding biologically created Tears, rather than mechanical. I do not intend this to be the case for long, but we are completely at a loss.”

Comstock strode across the room, agitated. He ran his hands through his hair, then straightened in an attempt to regain his self-control. 

“Do you think, Madame Lutece, that the tears are dangerous?”

“Yes, I believe they are,” Rosalind said. Robert nodded in agreement. “She is very young, and may not understand their power. She could bring anything through them, from a handful of candy to a rabid dog.”

“As do I. This ability of hers puts both the child and Columbia in peril. I see no other option but for you to develop a method of removing this power from her, or at a minimum containing it so that she cannot exercise it.” Comstock said. 

“I believe that is possible, yes.”

“Is there a way to do so without harming her?”

“I will have to locate my notes from a certain stage in the development of the contraption, but I recall that there were some frequencies and substances that disrupted the formation of the Tears. I had to have parts of the house rebuilt to remove them. I suppose that we could, first, try to harness that effect. If that does not work-if these involve something other than the Lutece Field—we may have to consider other measures.”

Comstock said, “I leave it in your hands, then. If you will be needing some more manufacturing capacity than you have here, I will speak to Fink and have him make his facilities available to you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Comstock. We will work with all haste. May we continue to visit Elizabeth?”

“Yes, of course. I fear for the nurses, however, and am arranging for a more…robust guardian. The preparations should be complete early next year.”

“We will keep you apprised of our progress.”

Comstock bowed and left. 

Rosalind started, “You understand, brother, that—“

“I didn’t want to say it in front of him, but yes, I’ve already got some experiments in mind. When we build the facility, it will be simple to leave a small area…unguarded.”  
She smiled. “Great minds think alike, then.”

“Let’s go see Elizabeth, before she tears the place apart.”

“Pun unintended, I hope.”

“You should be so lucky.”


	15. Chapter 15

July 1895  
Later that week

Jeremiah Fink rose from his desk as they entered his office. “Rosalind. It is a true, true pleasure to see you.”

He took her hand and kissed it, lingering over her skin. “Zachary indicated that you would be coming by some time this week. How have you been?”

“We have been well. And yourself? How is your family?”

“Quite well, quite well.”

“Hello, Mr. Fink.” Robert said.

“Ah, hello,” Fink said absent-mindedly in Robert’s general direction. “An unfortunate thing, the kidnapping attempt, but I have to count it as good fortune anything that brings the Mother of Columbia to my door. Anything I can do for you, please just say the word.” 

Rosalind brought out the folio of drawings that she and Robert had prepared. “In order to prevent the girl from opening further tears, we have settled on columns of the alloy described in these sketches. Based on the effective range of each column, we will need sixty in order to cover the entire range of her living quarters. There will be ten of them which will have to be in the main area, so they will need to be installed behind the walls or concealed in support pillars.”

“Will they need power?”

“Yes, as you can see here…” Rosalind bent over the drawing and Fink stood close to her to see the fine writing. Robert stood in the back of the room, uneasy at the man’s proximity to Rosalind, but knowing that his unease needed to be hidden. If Comstock had shared their secret with anyone, though, Fink would have been the man. 

Fink’s fingers traced lightly over Rosalind’s as she pointed out a particular detail. A red mist started to come over the edges of Robert’s eyes, and he took a deep breath. Had Rosalind known that this was going to happen? Was she…was she reciprocating? She at least was not resisting his attentions as he might expect her to. 

“Robert?”

He realized that they were looking at him, expecting an answer to a question. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought. What was the question?”

Fink looked at him with contempt. “Never mind, I’ll look it up myself.” He turned back to the drawing with Rosalind. 

“Well, I’ll need to consult the shop foreman, but I am fairly certain that my workers will be able to produce and install these within seven calendar days.”

Rosalind said, “Excellent. Please let me know if there will be any delays or if any sections of the drawings are unclear. These are copies, so please feel free to keep them.”

“I certainly will. Is this your work? It’s elegant.”

“Robert and I produced the drawings together. He is the better draftsman.”

“Ah. Well. Are you sure I can’t tempt you with lunch? Dinner?”

“No, I’m sorry, we have some other visits to make today. Perhaps another time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

They descended the elevator. Robert looked out the corner of his eye at Rosalind. 

“You’re looking at me, brother.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Rosalind, is there something I should know?”

“As you are aware, Comstock did his level best to arrange marriages for me, and Fink was one of them. Inviting us over for dinner, seating us next to one another…he is not the worst conversation partner, and not repellent in person. He is even, as you might not realize, an engineer and inventor of considerable skill and intelligence.”

“You…loved him?”

“No, I simply didn’t dislike him.”

“But you turned him down.”

“Yes. This was pure chance – or, knowing the person involved, perhaps not, but I have suppliers in Finkton who have done some small custom jobs that I didn’t want Fink to see. One of them mentioned that he is not above personally ensuring the next generation of workers for his factories. I arranged to have him followed several times and confirmed that it was true.”

“He was forcing himself on them?”

“Muscle is not the only way to impose upon a woman. When you have that kind of power, I am not sure that no remains an option.”

“Does he know why you turned him down?”

“Of course. The courtship, such as it was, had progressed to the point where I could hardly cut him off without any reason. He denied it at first, but I produced evidence that the private investigator had gathered, and he relented. I’m sure he’s been looking for a way to get revenge, but he is far too cunning to do it in any way that I could anticipate.”

Robert sighed. “This is a perilous Eden that you have built, sister. Do you think his wife knows?”

“I’m sure she does. But there’s certainly no percentage in it for her to confront him about it. I’m not even sure how much moral ground remains to me any more.”

They were home by this point, standing in the front hall. Robert took Rosalind by the shoulder and spun her around, bringing her into a searing kiss. “Don’t say that. Don’t give up on yourself.”

“What?”

He paced across the room. “I – no. I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking about this. Look at Comstock. Do you think what he’s doing is right?”

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well, he does. He is so convinced of his own righteousness – regardless of his cant about his being a sinner – he is convinced that he has been forgiven and that, that is the source of the evil he commits. He spins tight justifications for his every action from the air itself. And he imagines Columbia’s blessing for everything he does.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m saying that giving up is the same thing. You didn’t see Booker DeWitt like I did. He had done the same thing. He had decided that his sins had erased his ability to do good. He was drowning himself in drink and debt. Two sides of the same coin. One can do no wrong, one can do nothing but.”

“I’m saying to not go down either path. Every moment, we can choose to do the least harm. But that’s damned hard. It’s hard to remember that good is always at hand, and even if we can’t undo what we’ve done we can try to do better.”

Rosalind nestled into Robert’s arms, head down against his chest. He rested his lips on the top of her head and rocked her gently back and forth. 

“You are right, brother. As little as I wish to admit it. But what am I to do now? I can hardly plunge Columbia into the sea. That would only add to the sins to my name.”

“All I want you to do is not forget. If you will choose harm, choose it with open eyes, and do not deny it. That’s what Fink has done. He hears the lamentations of his workers and considers it a sweet melody.”

Robert took her chin in hand and tried to raise her face to his. He was surprised to see the shining tracks of tears down her face. 

“Don’t look so shocked.”

“I’ve never seen you cry.”

“Well, you’re seeing it now. What do you think?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

She reached her hand up to the back of his head and kissed him, rubbing her tears onto his face with her cheek. Her body melted into his and he could feel himself responding to the contact, the warm rush of arousal overlaying the fear he had felt for her. He started loosening her tie and she took his hand and led him upstairs.


	17. Chapter 17

March 1897

It was unnerving to Robert to hear the rustling of the bird’s great leather wings during their tutoring sessions. The beast was never more than fifteen feet from them, its eye cycling from green to yellow when he entered. Fink had had his trainers teach the thing to tolerate them, though he would have preferred to not be treated as a potential threat. 

Both twins had been present at the introduction that Fink had staged – the great eye had circled to red when Fink released the catch that kept the dog in its cage, and when it had rushed out at the image of Elizabeth (no doubt crazed with hunger and thirst, if he knew his man) the thing had shredded the poor dog with its great claws and feasted on its heart. Both he and Rosalind had turned pale at this demonstration, though they did not lose the contents of their stomachs as many of Columbia’s leaders did. 

He and Rosalind had fought viciously when next they were home together. She had been disappearing for several hours in the evening without providing an explanation, and she confessed that she had been assisting with the creation of the guardian, which they were calling the Songbird. The man they had dragged away from the kidnapping attempt had been fused to the metal and leather skeleton of a bird of prey, she said, and made able to fly with a manipulation of the Lutece field.

While they had fought in the past, as any two people would, this had been their worst fight to date. Robert had retreated to the couch for several days, and Rosalind had extended her disappearances, sometimes overnight, returning home disheveled and sleeping for hours in the middle of the day. She was not overly concerned with her physical self at the best of times and she grew thinner each day that Robert did not remind her to eat. He had eventually returned to their bed, and Rosalind had made him welcome, but the trust between them had eroded, and their intimacies carried an undercurrent of anger. 

His only comfort was that Elizabeth seemed to get along well with the creature, and it was ever solicitous of her comfort and safety. He did not know if the girl was aware of what it had been designed for, or what it was capable of, but he did not know what would be accomplished by enlightening her. 

“All right. You’ve done well on your mathematics and science today, do you have enough energy to read a bit? 

“Yes, Mr. Lutece. Can I pick the book?”

“Certainly.” She ran across the room and fetched the Columbian Children’s Primer, and she sat at his feet.

“Can Songbird sit with us?”

“Of course.”

The towering beast eased itself close to them. It stroked her hair and she leaned her head over into its wing. 

They had selected the books in the girl’s enormous library with caution to avoid any semblance of unorthodoxy. On Comstock’s insistence, no mentions, of course, of who the girl was, or what she could do. Works by Columbia’s Prophet-approved children’s authors, classical literature, select scientific works that made no reference to any of the theories that had been declared antithetical to the principles of the Founders. Extensive mathematics texts and a slim volume on lockpicking that Robert had left in the child’s bedroom one day with a false cover, and a finger pressed to his lips. 

They read for half an hour, then the clock chimed three. Songbird chirped in a manner that he had come to understand meant that his time there was finished. 

“All right, Elizabeth. That’s all for today. Rosalind will be here tomorrow. Please read over the chapters on this sheet so that you and she can discuss them.”

He gave her a tight hug, careful not to linger any longer than Songbird preferred, and took his leave through the labyrinth of dark passages. 

He walked in to the darkened house and into the main sitting room at the same moment that Fink, standing with Rosalind by the light, pulled her to him and kissed her. She pressed up against him in, Robert thought, exactly the same manner that she did to him. 

It seemed as if the floor had fallen out from under him, and he could hardly breathe. He said in a strangled voice, “Hello, Rosalind.”

Rosalind glanced in his direction, then leapt back from Fink, startled. “Robert! I didn’t expect you back so early.”

“Clearly not,” he managed to choke out.


	18. Chapter 18

Rosalind was scarlet with embarrassment, but Fink only slightly so. 

“Mr. Lutece. You’re a man of the world. I’m sure you can see your way to keeping your mouth shut on this. If you need some additional persuasion, I’ve certainly got that to hand.” He reached for his wallet.

“You. Bastard.” Robert overcame the adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream and rushed towards Fink, arms outstretched. Fink stepped aside and Robert tried to bring his momentum to a halt, running into the wall with some force.

“Now then, Robert. I can understand that you might be protective of your sister. I can understand that, she’s a magnificent woman.”

Robert did not reply, but swung wildly at Fink again. Fink pivoted back slightly, caught his elbow on the downswing with the hand closest to Robert and used the palm of the other hand on the back of Robert’s neck to smash his head against the sofa. 

“Before you proceed any further, Mr. Lutece, I might warn you that I’ve spent some time in the Orient learning some of their fighting arts.”

Robert’s head was spinning and blood was running down the side of his face through a cut on his forehead as he faced off towards Fink again. “Never. Touch. Her. Again. I’ll kill you,” he panted.

“On the contrary, it looks like I’m on the way to killing you. Though I won’t. I suspect it would grieve Rosalind to lose you, so I’ll stop before the final blow if you insist on keeping this up.”

A wave of dizziness hit Robert, and he sank to his knees. Fink looked at him. “Good. Thank you.”

“You are a bit more protective of her than I’d expect, Mr. Lutece. I’d be wary of expressing that to anyone else. It might convince them of the truth of the no doubt untrue rumors that fly from time to time about you two.”

Robert glanced at Rosalind. She wore a neutral expression that he had seen on her many times when exploring a new avenue of research. So this is an experiment for her, he thought. 

“Jeremiah, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see to Robert’s injuries.”

“Certainly, I’ll show myself out. Please, let me know when you might be free another time, Rosalind.”

Fink bowed to her and kissed her hand, bowed toward Robert with a look of contempt on his face, and took his leave. When she was sure that he was gone, Rosalind sighed and helped Robert to his feet, leading him into the kitchen. 

She went to the cupboard where she kept the towels that she’d used for the hemorrhaging in his first days in Columbia and fetched a handful, wetting them down at the sink. She wiped the blood off of his face and put pressure on the cut on his forehead. 

“Have you ever even been in a physical fight, Robert?”

He shook his head. “Well, you looked like a fool. Please don’t do that again. He’s extremely strong.”

When she stepped back to check for other injuries, she saw the tears running through the blood. 

He choked out, “Have you…have you—”

When Rosalind did not respond, he said, “Have you fucked him?”

She bowed her head, and went over to the drawer to get bandages. 

“Is he better than me?”

“There isn’t an answer to that question that will make anyone happy.”

“I thought you found him morally repulsive. Scum.”

“And so am I, Robert. And so am I.”

She placed a bandage over the cut and wrapped the longer ones around his head to keep it in place. 

“You helped me forget that for a while. But it turns out that I can’t. Fink—let’s just say that the more I leave my principles behind, the more he likes me.”

Robert bowed his head and his shoulders started shaking. She pulled up a stool close by and rested her head against him.

“I love you, Robert. More than I love myself, as ridiculous as that may sound. But in you I see what I could be. You have this belief in the goodness of people even though you’ve seen, and done, some of the same things I have. I don’t know how you still think that way, and it makes me suspect that there is something very, very wrong with me.”

He stood up and grabbed her by the shoulders, shouting now through the tears.

“You are all I have. I have no past here. My future-without you-Rosalind, if my eye catches a stray reminder of my other life, I collapse bleeding. I—literally—cannot live without you.”

He pulled her to him, held her, still sobbing. She was tense, but relented.

“I love you, Rosalind. That means all of you. I am not as naïve as you think. I know what you’ve done. I know what we’ve done. I don’t care.”

“Don’t say that I don’t know you. I do. You’re wrong. I’m not even sure I care all that much about you—being with—him. What I care about is that you think that I can’t accept you. What I care about is that you think you need to run from me to be who you are.” He was seized by a coughing spell and grabbed one of the towels to blow his nose. 

Rosalind was staring at the floor. She spoke in a quiet voice when he had calmed down.

“I just wanted to do my work. I never thought—oh, I had my concerns about Comstock, but I pushed them aside. I just—I thought science was so pure. I thought I had found a way to rise above petty concerns of money, and the purported restrictions of my sex.” 

“I don’t have to explain to you the ecstasy of discovery. The feeling, after such a length of time, and so much work and struggle, of pulling the covers off one of the mysteries of this world.”

“But nothing is pure. Nothing is above those concerns, is it? It always comes down to those things. Money. Time. Fame. That is where we sin. That is where we lose our innocence. “

“And if there is no one to hold us back – no one watching, no one to say, ‘have a care, friend’ – Robert, if I had only had you years before I ever spoke or thought the word Columbia. If only the word could go back to its former existence, as an engraving on the base of a statue, and not the name of my greatest triumph, and greatest regret.”

“But you and this city are intertwined, in a way closer than even the most impassioned lovers. If I did not raise this city, I would not have you.”

She looked at the clock, stepped back and regarded him. “I’m sorry to have to break this off, but I have an appointment in twenty minutes to discuss some issues regarding one of the power stations. I should be done within an hour or so with that, but if the problem is what I think it is I’m going to want to check the other facilities as well. Do you think you’ll be all right?”

Robert nodded weakly. “Have a drink. Relax. I don’t think you’re concussed, so you can get some sleep. I’ll be home soon enough, and we can talk more.”

She caressed his face. “I love you, brother.”


	19. Chapter 19

Follow me at quantumlevitation.tumblr.com!

April 1897

The photos were glossy, small and clear. Robert placed them one by one on the desk. There were ten in all. 

Fink picked one up with a smirk on his face. “I’m a busy man, Lutece. Did you make this appointment to show me your baby pictures?” The smile fading when he looks more closely at what the photographer has captured.

They are all children, ranging in age from two to four, skin shading from cocoa to a pale white. What they have in common is a thin oval face, dark hair and dark eyes. 

Fink hastily snatched the photos up and threw them in the fire. “These are copies, Mr. Fink. Give me more credit than that.”

A note of panic entered his voice. “What do you want? I’ve already offered you money.”

“You will not see Rosalind again, except in social settings that cannot be avoided. You will never lay a finger on either of us, in anger or in lust. Or Comstock gets a thick envelope delivered to him with his breakfast tray.”

“Not to mention the identical envelope that will be arriving addressed to your wife.”

Fink had been holding the edge of an armchair to support himself. He takes a deep breath and walks towards the desk, steadying himself with an effort. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Lutece! You know, there are a lot of opportunities within Fink Manufacturing for a young man of great intelligence like yourself…”

Robert spoke quietly. “Thank you, Jeremiah, but I am no longer young, and your opportunities are not the sort that interest me. Do I have your word?”

Fink mutters something under his breath.

“Do I have your word, Fink?”

His movements are panicked and fluttery, like a caged bird. “Yes. You have my word.”

They shake hands, and Fink collapses into the chair at the desk as Robert walks toward the door.

He says, weakly, “Your sister. Robert. She is a woman without equal.”

Robert smiles. “I know.”

Rosalind is waiting when he arrives home, sitting rigid in her favorite chair. 

“Robert. I know that I don’t have any standing to ask this of you, but where have you been for the past week? You’ve been disappearing…”

Robert says nothing, but goes across the room to the safe, enters the combination, and takes out a copy of the same stack of photos. He hands them to Rosalind, who flips through them casually, then with more urgency when she realizes who the children are. 

“He won’t be bothering you again, Rosalind.”

Rosalind stares at him. “This is truly…this is magnificent, brother.”

“You see, sister, I am not, as you seem to think, entirely devoid of guile.”

She seemed to be taking new account of him. “No. No. You are not.”

He spoke in a quiet voice. “Did you care for him at all?”

“No.” She looks down. “Even when we were together I could only think of you.”

He steps in, tilts her head up with his hand. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure. I am yours.”

Her kiss was like the first time home after long travel, like the mercy of rain after a long drought. Rosalind broke off the kiss to pick up the book that she had been reading and lead him over to the sofa. He grabbed a book of his own and sat down, and she settled in his lap, entwining her legs with his in the way they had been accustomed before their separation. It was enough for now, he thought.


	20. Chapter 20

In which we return to NSFW territory.

Rosalind was reading in her favorite chair with a cup of tea, a waltz on the phonograph, when Robert came in. 

“You played this for me when I first came over.” Robert hums along a bit. “Yes, I remember this part well. Care to dance?”

Rosalind looks up at him. “I’m reading, brother.”

“The book will still be there after you dance with me. I may decide to run off and join the circus at any moment.” He picks up his juggling balls from the workbench and tosses them in the air. One bounces off his hand and rolls under the chair.

“Oh my. Let me just get that.”

Robert bends down to look under the chair for the ball. When he retrieves it, he remains kneeling before Rosalind, looking up at her with a teasing look.

“Rosalind. Dance with me.” He takes her by the hand. She finally relents, places a bookmark in her tome, and slides into Robert’s arms.

“Mm. I finally have a use for those dreadful ballroom dancing lessons that Mother made me take. Did you have to take them as well?”

“Oh yes,” he says, pulling her closer to him and settling his hand on her back. “Ms. Oliver?”

She laughs. “It was Mr. Oliver for me.”

“I never cease to be fascinated by the variables, no matter how many I find.”

Rosalind dances them to the workbench for a moment, and takes out the latest notebook that she has been keeping on them. “Perhaps not the most significant variable, but interesting nonetheless. Was she an older woman, very slight and elegant?”

“Yes, that’s her. She seemed very frail but danced as lightly as thistledown. She was an excellent teacher as well, though she did seem to labor under the delusion that we would all be professional ballroom dancers at some point.”

“As did he.” She completes her notes and returns to him. They dance well together, he thinks. They anticipate each other’s moves, and her closeness is starting to fill him with a rush of heat. 

She tilts her head up to look at him, gazing into his eyes, which are and are not hers, and brushes a kiss on his lips. He returns the kiss, gentle at first but then parting her lips with his tongue, Rosalind doing the same in turn. Their dancing has stilled now and his hands find the sweet line of her face. They break apart, and Rosalind has the faraway expression that he knows means that she desires him.

A shadow passes over her face. “Robert, I just want to make sure that…are you sure that…”

“That you are welcome?”

“Yes.”

He moves her hand downwards to show her how welcome she is. She rubs his hardness through his trousers, a look of pleasure on her face when she hears the slight gasp that escapes him. 

“Do you enjoy that?”

His gaze is heavy now, fixed on her face, close to his. “You know I do.” His breathing is coming more quickly now as she continues to touch him. 

He undoes the buttons on his trousers and frees his cock from its restraints, the slight contact sending a jolt through his body, and sits down on the sofa. Rosalind sweeps her skirt aside and straddles him, using her hand to guide him into her, letting out a long shuddering breath as she slides down onto him. Robert grips the edge of the couch and tries to keep himself from arching up into her and tipping her onto the floor. She rests her arms on his shoulders and starts moving in a compelling rhythm, pressing her most sensitive area up against him as he puts his head back and tries to let her lead. 

He is panting with his eyes screwed shut as Rosalind slows her movements. “Would it bother you if I stopped, brother?”

He opens his eyes, nods through his haze of arousal. Rosalind stops moving with a cruel smile on her face. 

“All this exercise. Perhaps I’ll just sit here for a while.”

He tries to buck his hips, to make her move in the way that had become for him an imperative. “Please. Keep going. Please.”

She wiggles her hips, settles in further, looks deep into his eyes. He pushes her to a sitting position, grabs her shirt, rips it open, disregarding her shocked expression, and starts licking her neck and kissing behind her ears. “Playing—dirty—now—oh. Oh. Robert.”

She closes her eyes and starts rocking on him the way that he needs. “You…bastard. Robert.” He keeps at her, nibbling her earlobes, until she loses control and lets her body seek the pleasure that it needs, the pace increasing until she is choking out his name, arching into him, and he lets go as well, emptying himself into her, feeling the hot slickness run down between them. 

Rosalind’s breathing is still fast and he can feel her heart pounding as she rests on him, dropping a kiss on his nose. She eases off of him and goes to clean up, removing the damaged shirt. 

Robert watches her go. “I’m sorry about your shirt. Well, actually, I’m not that sorry about your shirt. Such torment cannot be allowed to pass without consequences.”

“It’s worth a few buttons to cause you such delicious distress. I won’t get it fixed, I’ll just get a new one. Or wear it while we’re cleaning the contraption.” 

Robert stands, rearranges his clothing. “Rosalind, I…I’m glad you’re back. I missed you. I missed this.”

She kisses him lightly. “I need you. I know that now.”


	21. Chapter 21

Robert is reaching into their fireproof safe to retrieve one of his notebooks when he notices a small piece of tape extending off of the side of the top.

He feels the tape, and the key. A key?

He closed the safe most of the way with the key still in hand. It was a heavy thing, the filigree at the top in a different style from the other hardware in the house. He realized that it matched the gridwork that prohibited entry to the two doors on the second floor.

When he had first come to live with her, he had asked. “Nothing to concern you,” she had said, but they were not as close then as they were now. She had never brought it up a second time, and the rooms had drifted outside his notice. 

He shut the safe, spun the dial around, and walked up the stairs. The key slid into the lock on the left-hand door and turned without protest. 

He put his hand to the barrier to move it aside when a wave of remorse washed over him. Stop, it said. Wait until Rosalind is here. 

But there were certain things that had been in his mind, and, thinking of them, and growing angry, he decided to open the door.

The room was very small, barely a closet. He reached up for where he assumed the light was and pulled the chain.

Images. A tan jacket and white in his size. A green tie. A photograph of him—

Sleeping—no, not sleeping—

The floor came up to meet him and the world turned black.

 

He was underwater, or he must be, for his movements to be so sluggish. Rosalind’s voice was far away. The water was cold, or he would not be shivering.

“Oh God—Robert—“ A strangled noise. “Jeremiah, watch him while I go down to the kitchen and get my kit. He’s lost too much blood.”

“Are you sure about this, Rosalind? It might be the best thing…”

“Shut up and help or leave.” She is screaming now, running down the stairs, a note of panic in her voice.

Large hands rolling him over, checking his breathing. “Well, sport, I should probably do what the little lady says, so let’s sit you up a bit, see if we can’t get that nosebleed to stop.”

His heart thumps with every one of Rosalind’s footsteps up the stairs. She sets the transfusion kit down, tears her jacket and shirt off, sets up the receptacle, cleans her arm with iodine, spraying it everywhere, and jams the needle into her arm. Her blood leaps into the tube and starts filling the bottle.

She relaxes, lets it flow for a second. “Get his shirt off and clean his arm with iodine”

Fink does what he is told. His fingers are warm on Robert’s neck and it makes him want to throw up. He gets the shirt off, cutting it with a pair of scissors, and the cool wash of iodine goes over his skin. He can hear Rosalind tugging the needle out of her arm and wrapping the puncture mark hastily with a bandage. 

Her hands are strong and capable on his arm as she brings up the vein and slides in the needle. Her blood is still warm and he thrills to its heat. Her blood, he thinks. The essence of his beloved. He had no recollection of the earlier transfusions and he is surprised at the happiness it is bringing him.

Fink has brought a blanket and a bowl of warm water, on Rosalind’s command, and he is now swathed in warmth, the chills receding. He tries to open his eyes and finds they are stuck together. He tries to swing his arm up to clean them, but Rosalind stops him.

“No, Robert. The needle’s in that arm. Let it work.”

A warm cloth on his eyes and the sound of a rag being squeezed out in a metal bowl. After a few rinses, he is able to open his eyes.

“You’ve had better luck with this one, Rosalind, but he seems rather a fool at times.”

“Kindly shut your mouth, Jeremiah.”

“Can I help you get him into bed?”

“Yes, if you would.”

“Where do you sleep, Rosalind?”

“Elsewhere. Not your business.” He settles in. “There. Now go.”

“As you wish. I’ll show myself out.”

He walked down the stairs and the door shut. 

“I love you, Rosalind,” Robert said, or tried to say. It came out as a croak.

“Shhh. Don’t try to speak now. I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, though, Robert. You could have died.”

“Sweet Rosalind,” he tried to mumble.

“While you’re already feeling awful, I’ll tell you what you probably already know. There was another Robert before you. He died, three days after I brought him through. He bled to death. Fink was the only one who knew. He helped me – well, let’s just say that if a body needs to disappear in Columbia, Fink is very helpful.”

Rosalind cuts the rest of his clothes off and settles the sheets around him. His nose has stopped bleeding and he is warm, relaxed, weak. There is a thought at the back of his mind but it will be there when he wakes.


	22. Chapter 22

For some background on the scene in the office, please read the lovely piece of crackship “You’ve Got Me Dancing with the Devil”, by eva-green. 

I know Rosalind/Fink isn’t canon, but it entertains me.

April 1902

Elizabeth has a song on the phonograph when Rosalind arrives, and she is dancing happily in circles around the room.

“Time for lessons, Elizabeth.”

“Madame Lutece! I thought Robert was coming today.”

“He is indisposed. He’s told me what he was going to work on, though, so we can take a look at it together.”

They sit down at the large wooden table. Rosalind reviews the problems that Robert had left for Elizabeth and is pleased to see that she is making progress. 

After they have been working for a while, Elizabeth says, “I like you, Madame Lutece, but I like Robert better. He makes it more fun.”

“Well. Sometimes things aren’t fun. Sometimes they are our duty, and our responsibility to our city and ourselves.” 

“Madame Lutece, are you married?”

“No, Elizabeth, I am not.”

“Is Robert married?”

“No, he is not married either.”

“I think you would make a good husband and wife.”

“Elizabeth, we are brother and sister. We cannot marry, it is illegal and inappropriate.”

“But you’re not brother and sister, are you? You’re the same person.”

“How…how do you know that?”

“I can see you in the tears sometimes. I see a lot of different things. I saw you kiss him once and you seemed really happy.”

“Wait. You are opening tears?”

“Yes, all the time now.”

“Not just in that corner of the library?”

“No, anywhere I like. I get so bored in here. Songbird is a good protector, but he can’t play games with me, or tell me stories.”

Rosalind hears his wings before she sees him. Faster than she would expect for something so large, the Songbird swoops at her, his beak catching her shoulder and tearing open her shirt. A line of red forms and the blood starts flowing. Underneath the pain is something like maternal pride, at the effectiveness of her creation.

“Songbird, no! It’s just Madame Lutece!”

The beast has turned around from its first attack and is readying another. 

“Madame Lutece, I don’t know what’s wrong! Songbird, don’t hurt her!”

The bird slashes forward with the sharp edge of his wing. Rosalind leaps back and the razored edge makes a small slit in her blazer. 

“Run! I don’t know how to calm him down!” Elizabeth sobs.

Abandoning her dignity, Rosalind runs for the door, and just makes it out. She hears him pound at the door in frustration.

Elizabeth’s voice can be heard through the thick door. “No, Songbird! She wasn’t going to hurt me! She was just teaching me! What are you doing?”

Rosalind takes a moment to collect herself and fetches a bandage for the bleeding on her arm. As she wraps the thick cloth around her arm, she knows without any further thought what happened. 

On her way to Fink’s office, she knows that she meets several people, but she does not remember acknowledging them. When she arrives in the anteroom, she marches past Flambeau, ignoring his protest, and slams the door shut.

She holds out her bandaged arm, the blood already soaking through. “Talk.”

Fink looked at her, then opens the office door. “Flambeau, the first-aid kit for Madame Lutece, if you would be so kind.”

The young man walks in, a studied look of neutrality on his face, and hands him a box, then bows and withdraws. Fink starts to undo the bandages on her arm.

“As you are aware, Rosalind, I am not a generous man. I am willing to keep your secret, and to permit you and your…brother…to keep mine.”

“But I always get my percentage, Rosalind. That is the secret to my success, after all. Forgive the atrocious wordplay, but this is my cut.”

“But Jeremiah, she is a child! We are the only human beings that speak to her!”

“And that is over. I do have Father Comstock’s approval for this process, you know.” He shows her a memo with a recent date regarding Songbird’s conditioning. “We discussed it. As well as the tears that she has been opening.”

“You unbleachable shitstain.”

“Language, my dear, language. The difference between you and me, Rosalind, is that I don’t lie to myself. I am what I am. This brother of yours seems to be trying to convince you that you are somehow better than me.”

“You are not. You love science for its own sake. The thrill of the chase. Those long nights, working next to you, were the sweetest of my life.”

Fink pauses, collects himself with some effort. “And those times we were together…the sweetest of all.”

Rosalind stares at him. “You had me like a common whore on a filthy worktable a few times. I’m not sure that even a man of your ingenuity can manufacture a grand romantic folly out of that.”

“So unkind, Rosalind.” His smile slides around in the pit of her stomach, bumping against the walls. He secures the last end of the bandages, and steps away from her, though not far enough for her tastes.

“What did you come to my house for, Fink, despite having been explicitly asked not to do so?”

“By the way, I have resigned myself to the fact that you have not thanked me for my assistance the other day as your natural distress at finding your brother so ill.”

“Father Comstock has asked me to reinforce the protection around Elizabeth, as she has been opening tears and endangering herself again. I have drawn up some initial plans—rather than simply preventing her from opening them, I believe that we need to actively drain her of the ability.”

Rosalind looks at the drawings. “And you need my help?”

“I need your help.”

“What are you going to do with the energy?”

“I have a few ideas, that I’d prefer not to share with someone who insists upon remaining at arm’s length from me.” He extends a hand to her.

“I will help you build the siphon. I cannot refuse you on that if Comstock has given orders. But I will not resume our previous relations.” 

“As you wish. Please take these drawings and let me know by the end of the day tomorrow if you see anything amiss with them.”

Rosalind rolls up the drawings and walks out of the office without a word.


	23. Chapter 23

April 1902

Rosalind managed the trip back to their residence without crying, but once she was there, and certain that the windows were covered, she stood at a table in the kitchen and let the tears come. She despised herself for the weakness, but indulged for a few moments before she had to face Robert.

He wandered in while she was drying her eyes. He looked pale and was clad only in pajamas. He took her in in a glance – the tears, the torn clothes, the blood – and she could see him sink, then buoy up and walk toward her.

“Your arm, Rosalind,” he said, wary.

“It was…” She stops for a moment to collect herself. 

“Rosalind. Please tell me what happened.”

She speaks in a whisper. “Songbird attacked me. I barely got away.”

“While you were teaching Elizabeth today?”

She nods.

“What were you…were you doing anything?”

“No, we were sitting at the table and he returned from wherever he goes, and came at me without warning. Elizabeth distracted him to give me time to get to the door.”

They look into each other’s eyes. She sees Robert thinking, then the realization coming to him, then the anger. And loss. And anger again.

She nods again and takes a deep breath to try to speak.

“He said…he said it was his percentage. His tithe. That we wouldn’t…that we couldn’t…”

“You went to see him about it, I suppose. And I’m sure he’s already spoken to Comstock about it, and talked him around.” 

Rosalind shows him the memo. 

Robert bows his head for a long time. Rosalind feels the panic rising in her chest, but stills it with some effort. 

He looks at the roll of drawings. “What are these?”

He examines them. “What is this about a siphon?” He spends a moment on them. “They can’t do this to her. They can’t!”

“We are required to assist with its creation.”

“We are required.”

“In the. The memo.”

“I am sick of this. I am sick of this. I swear to God, Rosalind, I am going to recover from this illness and I am going back to my world, whether you like it or not. I cannot stand any of this any more. No matter how much I love you. No matter how much I need you, or want you. There are other women in this world. “ 

He sees momentary hurt in her eyes, then she replaces it with her customary resolve. His frustration overwhelms him, and he continues, though he knows it unwise. 

“Maybe I’ll even be able to find myself another Rosalind. One who doesn’t build siphons to torture children, one who doesn’t cheat on me with someone equally void of sense!”

He breaks down. “I love her. Like a daughter. You can’t take her away from me. You can’t. She’s my baby.”

Robert continues. “Thinking you were me was a mistake. You are not me, except in the strictest technical sense.”

She says nothing, but goes into the living room, over to the contraption, and taking up a heavy wrench that is sitting next to it, starts swinging it with great precision, destroying several parts that are crucial to its functioning.

Robert is frozen to the spot, his eyes wide, as the pieces of the more delicate parts clatter to the floor. He sinks into a chair. 

“There,” she says without emotion. “You’re not going anywhere, Robert. At least not until we fix it. I think by then you’ll have come to your senses.”

“I have erred. I know that. But you are no saint. You are no holy man. I know what you will do for me, and what you have done for me, and what you will have done for me. This will all end in tears, regardless of who we are or how hard we try.”


	24. Chapter 24

May 1902

Elizabeth,

I’ve entrusted this letter to one of the maintenance staff, and paid him to bring it to you. I hope it reaches you, and that you are able to use the code books that we worked on to decipher it in private. You were making such progress and I’ve been very proud of you.

You probably suspect this already, because of the attack, but Madame Lutece and I are no longer able to come visit you and teach you. I do not want you to think this is your fault. I hope to be able to tell you why someday, but I can’t right now.

You are a bright, thoughtful, and beautiful girl, and I love you like the daughter I never had. Please keep up your studies and your reading. I will try to send letters from time to time, but I don’t want to endanger you. I will miss you, miss you, miss you, and I hope you never forget the fun we had together.

Madame Lutece sends her regards as well.

Take care of yourself.

Your favorite Robert-monster


	25. Chapter 25

June 1902

Comstock had, to their relief, accepted Rosalind’s story about an overload of power during an electrical storm and urged them to fix the contraption without delay. He was preoccupied at any rate with his negotiations with the United States and had little time to spare. 

The day after their argument, she had been the one to clean up the bits of glass and scraps of metal, remove all of the parts that needed replacing, and walk a list over to the woman who did her custom work for her. Robert had been reading in the other room and watching out of a corner of his eye, and though several times he heard her draw breath to speak she said nothing. The experience had drained her, though, and she had taken to reading in another room where she could not see the contraption.

Their silence with each other lasted weeks. At first, it had been natural, as their anger had not cooled, and it was the way, Robert recalled, that their parents had ended their fights.

As much as they wanted to stand on their dignity, though, if it had been happening to anyone else, it would have been funny. They made attempts to coordinate their work on the siphon through notes that were often not found and illegible when they were. At night, they had each slept on the couch for several days, but it was not a comfortable piece of furniture in its best hour and, backs aching, they had settled for rolling to the extreme opposite sides of the bed. Once in a great while one of them would cook something, but they had mainly settled for having food delivered whenever one of them thought of it, but only for the person who was ordering.

He was relieved when they had managed to start speaking again, and even more so that Rosalind had been the one to apologize. 

They were getting ready for bed last night when she brought him a list she had prepared, and a fat envelope of money.

She walks up to him, tentative and shy in a way that he does not recognize in her, and speaks. 

It has been so long, it reminds him of the first time he had heard her through the tear. Her precise, elegant voice is like a blow to the chest. 

“Robert.”

He looks at her, shirt in hand, waiting to see what she has to say.

“Shirley has the parts ready. I would ask you the favor of picking them up from her tomorrow, if you would be so kind. Here is the order list and her payment.” 

“It will take us at least a week, I estimate, to install and run tests. Then, if you still wish, you can return to your world.”

She continues. “I love you, more than anything. But I can’t keep you here against your will. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have destroyed the contraption.”

A smile glimmers across his lips. “I think that hurt you more than it hurt me.”

Her eyes soften. “Yes. I feel like throwing up every time I look at it. It’s like there’s been a corpse in the living room.”

He hangs his shirt in the closet, takes off his trousers and socks, and lays down in bed, relaxing into the pillows. He watches Rosalind as she disrobes, the layers coming off to reveal her pale, freckled body in its light chemise. She notices him watching her and smiles. 

“I’m worried about you, going back to your world, though. You have probably been declared dead there. Your sudden reappearance may cause more problems than it solves,” she says. She approaches the bed, and he beckons her next to him, tucking her in under the sheet with him. He shifts so that she has her head on his shoulder in the old way.

“Rosalind,” he says. “What I would have told you if we were speaking to one another is that I will stay. You need me, whether you admit it or not.”

She looks at him, nods once, and puts her head back down.

“Elizabeth needs me. I may not be able to go see her any more, but I’ve seen from our work on the siphon so far that if we do not speak up for her, no one will. Comstock thinks she’s a sacrificial lamb and Fink thinks she’s a cash cow. We can keep working to find ways to make it easy for her, even if she doesn’t know it’s us.”

“Yes. We can do that. I will help. I’m…I…I don’t deserve this, Robert.”

“Then it’s a mercy that we so rarely get what we deserve.”

She reaches out to kiss him, her lips soft on his, then her hand on the side of his face.


	26. Chapter 26

July 6, 1902

Robert and Rosalind are entwined on the sofa, as is their habit, reading. Rain falls outside, almost drowning out the shouts and cheering from the citizens of Columbia, but not quite.

“I can’t believe they’re out in this weather,” Rosalind says.

“It’s not every day one secedes from the United States, you know. Don’t you think a little celebration is in order?”

“Was ordered, you mean.”

“Six of one, half-dozen of the other.”

Rosalind shrugs and returns to her book, though in doing so her weight shifts in a way that threatens to break Robert’s concentration. He squirms and whispers in her ear, “I think there’s a good chance of someone coming by to see us, or take us to some ceremony or the other.”

Rosalind’s face is innocent. “I was only making myself more comfortable, Robert. Do exercise some self-control.”

He brushes his lips against her ear again. Her composure wavers, but she appears for all purposes to be engrossed in her reading again. Robert sighs and returns to his book, though his attempts to take that delicious pressure off of his groin are met with failure. He closes his eyes, inhales, exhales. 

A knock resounds through the hallway. Robert’s look at Rosalind has a certain triumph to it. 

“Aren’t you going to get up and answer it, brother?”

“You’re sitting on me. It’s easier for you to get up.”

They eye each other, Rosalind leaning more of her weight where he both does and does not want it. He knows that this is not a contest of wills that he is going to win, but he waits at least one more knock on the door before he arches up against her, knowing that she feels his arousal. She smiles and goes to answer the door. He hears her speaking to a man, an unfamiliar, official voice. 

The door closes and she returns to the sitting room. “As you anticipated, we are expected at a dinner this evening to celebrate this blessed occasion. We’re to bring any and all documentation regarding our current citizenship.”

“I don’t actually have anything, I didn’t think to bring it when I came here.”

“I do. I never became an American citizen, though I don’t imagine Comstock is going to concern himself with the details on that.”

“What time is the dinner?”

“Six.”

“We have time, then.”

“For what, brother?”

Robert beckons her back to the couch, and she sits down primly next to him. He pulls her toward him, and it pleases her to act surprised. “Time for what?”

“To do this.” He kisses her, slow and gentle. It never fails to thrill him, that moment when she starts giving in to him. As soon as he feels it happen, though, she pulls back. He lunges for her, but she has backed off and started to climb the stairs. “I should dress for the evening.”

He knows she wants him to pursue her. He measures his lust against his desire to not give in to her and finds the former outweighing the latter, this time at least. He meets her at the top of the stairs and pushes her against the wall, holding her shoulders so that she cannot escape, his tongue deep in her mouth. 

She had managed to unbutton her shirt in the time that it took her to get up the stairs, and he nips hard at her neck. She gasps. “Robert, that hurts!”

“Good,” he rasps.

She kisses him again, takes his ear in her mouth, and bites down hard. 

“Fuck! Rosalind!”

“Turnabout is fair play, brother.”

The pain, to his surprise, inflames him even more, and he cannot wait any longer. He pushes her back toward the bed, pulling up her skirt, and fumbling at his own clothes at the same time. He manages to set himself free and plunges into her. 

The world dissolves into a pinpoint, a humming around him as he hammers away at her. She is making sweet noises that almost undo him with their smallness, their intensity. By the time he reaches his peak he has no idea where he is, what day it is, what time it is. From what seems like far away he hears her saying his name in an increasingly agitated voice, then it subsumes into bliss and she is kissing his neck. 

He rolls off of her, looks at her neck. He has left a dark purple bruise, but her collar will cover it. His ear, however, is tender and warm, and Rosalind looks at it with a critical eye.

“It’s red, but I don’t think there’ll be anything worse than a bit of swelling.”

“Not like this.” He kisses the bite mark gently. “But I’m not sorry. At all.”

“Nor did I expect you to be. Let’s dress, though.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, all!

August 1893

Jeremiah Fink had killed seven men and one woman in the course of doing business, and been present at the birth of one bastard child of his descent, and he prided himself that the sight of blood had long ceased to terrify him. 

He found himself ill-prepared, though, for the pools and clots and spray that covered the kitchen of Lutece Laboratories, and even less so for the sight of a mostly nude dead man who looked like Rosalind on the table. The hard coppery smell and the foulness from the corpse sent him skidding to the sink to empty the contents of his stomach. 

Rosalind was standing next to the table on which the man rested. Her clothes were, if at all possible, bloodier than the rest of the room, and a smear ran across her forehead and one cheek. 

The nausea subsided, and he wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Who- what-“

Rosalind did not turn toward him. “I sent for you because I assume that you are the kind of man who knows how to make a body disappear.”

“Rosalind, what is going on here? Did you kill this man?”

“I think the less you know, the better.”

“Absolutely not. I need to know what I’m getting involved with here.”

She touched the dead man’s face. “Fine. He is from another dimension. He is my counterpart there. Or was.”

Silence. 

“We had been communicating through the Lutece Field, and I had finally gotten the machine working to the point where he could pass through. The minute he came into this world, though, he passed out hemorrhaging from his nose, and never regained consciousness.”

“That was three days ago. He died this afternoon, despite my best efforts.”

Her voice has started to waver, and she takes a deep breath to compose herself. 

“You can either help me, or not. I will pay you for your assistance, and your silence.”

“Oh, there’s no need for payment.”

“I insist. I would prefer not to be in your debt on this.”

“I’m afraid that people with dead men in their kitchens are in no position to negotiate terms. I will assist, but I will not take money for it.”

They lock eyes for a few long moments. Rosalind’s eyes flick down to the table, then soften. Without speaking, she hands him with a long pair of gloves and a loose shirt, and they work in silence, Fink mopping the room and Rosalind rinsing the body, her hands gentle. Clean white sheets are found and used as a shroud, and they work together to rest him in a crate that Fink pulls up from the basement. 

It is dark by now, a moonless night. The kitchen shines clean in the flickering from the lamps. 

“What do you intend to do with him?”

“The furnaces in one of my plants should leave the least amount of evidence.”

She paled, if it were even possible to grow any paler. “Right.”

Fink leaves to fetch two of his associates, and Rosalind goes upstairs to strip out of her blood-soaked clothing and rinse herself down. The blood is drying in places and she welcomes the small amount of pain that she inflicts upon herself tearing it away from where it has stuck to her skin. 

She fills the bath and scrubs off, allowing a few tears to fall while she does so. It is a perilous choice, but she is able to calm herself and dress before Fink and his minions return. 

The ruined clothing goes in the crate, with the items that she had cut off of him while trying to save him. The tie and jacket are undamaged, though, and she sets them aside as a memento.

She hears footsteps outside. Fink has returned with two plainly dressed men, who lift the crate in silence and carry it out the back door.

He pauses on his way out, hand on the doorframe. “What was his name, Rosalind?”

The words come hard. “Robert. Robert Lutece.”

This last undoes her, and the tears fall. Fink nods and steps out the door into the warm night. 

He follows his men to the factory, and watches as they heave the crate into one of the larger furnaces, then step back as it catches and flares. As the unmistakable scent of a burning body fills the air, the men each in turn slide their eyes towards him, careful to keep their faces blank. He remains still, though, until he is sure that the flames have done their work and the evidence is gone. He hands each man a few large bills, and they take them in silence as they turn and walk away. 

Walking back to his offices, he is not sure to what extent he believes what she had told him, the nonsense about another dimension and another Lutece. It gives him the first stirrings of a headache just bringing the memory to mind. The dead man was real enough, for what it was worth. The smell of his incinerated body still strong in his nostrils is enough proof of that. 

He disrobes and slips into the bath that his valet prepares for him. Relaxing in the hot water, he turns it all over in his mind. It was not clear to him at present what any of it meant, with one exception: Rosalind Lutece owed him a favor, and the value of a favor was something he understood better than any man living or dead.


	28. Chapter 28

April 1906

Robert placed his hand on the cold glass of the observation room, willing himself to touch Elizabeth’s unconscious body through it, to reassure her, to comfort her. Rosalind was inside, dressed in surgical attire, supervising the doctors as they injected her infusion into the girl’s spinal column. Her eyes are worried as she watches the girl’s pulse and respiration as the plunger is lowered and the fluid begins to circulate. 

He is exhausted. One week ago, the tears started opening again, all over Columbia. No one but Elizabeth is able to open them, but it is still a source of deep concern, and they have been subject to continual inquiries from the press and concerned citizens. On Comstock’s orders, they have been living in Monument Island, bent over ledgers in the cool darkness detailing the power levels from the siphon, looking for patterns and anomalies. 

After several days in analysis, Rosalind summoned the man in charge of janitorial services to a private meeting in the small office they maintained. When they emerged from the meeting, she immediately dispatched telegrams to Comstock and Fink for an emergency meeting, then set to sketching graphs on the chalkboards and explaining her findings to him as practice.

He has not seen Comstock in about three months, and is surprised by how much he has thinned and grayed. There is a tinge to his skin that makes Robert wonder if the man is well, but this is hardly the time to inquire about his health.

Rosalind faces the three of them. He is, and she would hate him if he ever said this to her, proud of her calm bearing in the face of two such terrifying specimens, especially in light of the news she was about to impart.

“Gentlemen. I appreciate your presence on such short notice. I believe that I have determined the cause of the tears opening around the city and am prepared to propose a solution that represents the best of our knowledge at present.”

“As you can see from the data, the correlation is more or less definitive, and is something I have been suspecting for a while. The development of secondary sexual characteristics has been the catalyst for a gradual tenfold increase in the girl’s power. The basic mechanisms that have sufficed for some time are insufficient to say the least.”

Comstock is staring at her. “Secondary sexual characteristics?”

“Yes. If you look at this graph, you can see that the girl’s breast and hip development graph neatly with the recorded power levels.”

“I consulted with the janitorial staff and have discovered that she has experienced menarche at some point in the last week. It is reasonable to imagine that these tears have been precipitated by this change.”

Robert glances at the men. Comstock’s face is lit up like a sunset, Fink less so. At the mention of the magnitude of the increase in power, the jovial mask he wears in public fell away for a split second to reveal the naked greed that drives him. It is a strange and intimate sight, and Robert regrets having witnessed it.

Comstock says, “What do you propose?”

Rosalind takes a deep breath. He is sure that the men cannot see it, but it drains her energy to say the next sentence. “One of the infusions that we have developed should make her less resistant to the siphon’s power. It would be most effective injected into the spinal fluid.”

“The injection will also contain a powerful sedative, enough to render her unconscious for several days. We will of course keep a team of doctors to monitor her around the clock during this time. While she is unconscious, we can drain her of a considerable amount of power, and make the needed alterations to the existing machinery so that it can handle a much higher power load.”

“Please note, however, as always, that this is experimental. I say might and may because I do not know. We have checked the data, though, and this is our best guess among others. But I believe it will give us some breathing room. I do not think that it is a permanent solution, and as her hormonal levels continue to increase I think that we can expect additional power surges. Robert and I can draw up estimates of the load that the machinery will be expected to bear.”

That was three days ago. They have slept but little, as Comstock is under pressure to show his power by making the tears disappear, and every passing minute erodes the people’s belief in his omnipotence. 

Rosalind’s eyes have deep circles and he is sure that he looks no better. As they begin the application of the electricity, his heart rises in his throat. The girl’s body jumps, and Rosalind backs off for a moment, then proceeds.

Robert shakes off his reverie and goes back to watching the control panel. They have drained the expected amount of energy and he signals Rosalind through the glass. She brings the power down and the doctors check the girl one more time before rolling her away to the recovery room that they had prepared down the hall.

Rosalind’s face mask is falling off and strands of her hair are coming out of her surgical cap. He wants to tell her how beautiful she is, but it would come strangely right now. Once she is sure the doctors are gone, she slides into his arms and they hold each other until they both stop shaking.


	29. Chapter 29

September 4, 1909

Robert opened his eyes in the darkness. It was still dark, though the birdsong let him know that morning neared. He heard Rosalind’s breath next to him, took comfort in her warmth, her smell. Then the stony heft of the memory settled on him, pinning him to the bed.

While Fink’s vigors and Rosalind’s infusions had gone a long way towards slowing the progress of his disease, Comstock was still a very sick man. The doctors were doubtful each month that he would live another, but somehow he held on. He had been at Lutece Laboratories more often than not of late staring into the tears, searching for reassurance that Elizabeth would carry on his work.

The tears were unrevealing and mundane. Then last night, as they opened the first, heat rushed out along with some of the loudest sounds that Robert had ever heard. 

Zeppelins, firing on what could only be New York City. The year shown as 1983. The shadow of Columbia against a harsh sky. The great city burning and in ruins.

Comstock emitted a hoarse shout and fell to his knees as the scene unfolded through the pulsing light. Tears ran through the lines on the old man’s face and slid through his beard. He praised the Lord, the Founders, raising his hands to the heavens. 

“She will burn the Sodom Below! My Lamb will purify this world! Robert! Rosalind! Rejoice with me!” 

They looked at each other, but did not speak, and he did not insist on their participation. His head was now bowed, and the words to a hymn of triumph could be heard through the sobs. 

He started coughing, the spasms racking his body. One of his young assistants stepped forward and signaled for Rosalind to close the tear. She complied, and two of the men lifted Comstock between them and led him back to the horse-drawn carriage that he was compelled to use for travel.

They finished shutting down the contraption. Robert dreaded the moment when he no longer had a checklist to complete or knobs to fiddle with, and he would have to meet Rosalind’s eyes. 

She spoke first. “Brother, it may not happen. As I have told him more times than I can count, the tears are not prophecy. They show one possibility out of an infinite number.”

“He is going to do everything he can to make this happen, Rosalind. Prophecy or no.”

“There may be many worlds in which it happens. It may be a constant. It may be a variable.”

“How can you be so calm about this?”

Rosalind looked out into the afternoon sunlight. “I’ve spent more time in the tears than you have. I know that all of this is both far more complex and far simpler than either of us imagine. Far more complex because the variables that set off these chains of consequence are sometimes by no means what you think they are.”

“And it is far simpler, because frankly, brother, there is little we can do that will guarantee that the girl will not make the world burn. The determining factors may have already happened years ago.”

Robert’s mind was racing ahead. “We can get access to her again. We can talk to her. The isolation can’t be good for her. Then—“

Rosalind cut him off. “It will do no good, Robert.”

“Rosalind, don’t you even think we should try?”

“No. I don’t. As far as I am concerned we are simply keeping the world comfortable until its inevitable demise.”

Robert had glared at her, his heart hollowed, then taken his jacket and gone for a long walk. When he returned, Rosalind was already in bed, and he joined her there. 

She was reading by lamplight and what was left of the day’s sun.

“Rosalind, I will come up with a way to forestall this. I swear to you.”

She looked at him over the half-glasses that she had started to wear for reading. “I will neither assist nor hinder you. Your understanding of time is puerile at best, despite my best efforts to explain.”

Robert is offended for a moment, but what she is saying takes precedence. “Rosalind, what have you seen that I haven’t?”

She sniffs. “Abandon this ridiculous idea of yours, and I may tell you.”


	30. Chapter 30

October 16, 1909

Robert hears Rosalind’s voice from their workroom.

“Stop pacing and come say whatever it is you need to say, Robert.”

He realizes that he has been walking laps around the kitchen for the last ten minutes, and abashedly walks in to see her.

“Is this about the girl again? I thought that matter was closed.”

“For you, perhaps. Rosalind, I…I have a plan to get her out. I’ve worked out the logistics and everything. But there is one thing that I need to say.”

She sets her chalk down and wipes her hands on her skirt. She does not sit, or make any move that would indicate that he should make himself more comfortable. He feels dizzy from the force with which her eyes burrow into him.

“She needs to go back to her own world, Rosalind. That’s how we undo what we have done. She will lose her powers and can live out the rest of her life.”

“You would send her back alone?”

Robert gathers his strength. His body feels like it is going to vibrate apart. “No. I will go with her. Her world is my world. I will be safe there. The only question that remains, then—“

“—is whether or not I will accompany you.”

Rosalind falters at the last word, her voice cracking. Her face is as stony as Robert has ever seen it. In her eyes is a deep fatigue, like the darkness at the bottom of the ocean.

“I will give you my answer tonight. Do not speak to me before then.”

\------

That evening, Robert decides to cook a meal for the two of them, in order to distract himself from the silence. In the middle of his efforts, Rosalind comes in to the kitchen. The air smells of onions, butter, flour. 

She moves several clean flasks into a tray and sets them in a cabinet to free up a stool. She has been crying, Robert notes, though he offers no sympathy, knowing it will only irk her. Her voice is calm, if a bit curt.

“Robert. I could not find it in myself to speak of this earlier. But that was my own cowardice. You should know what I know, or at least what my research has shown.”

Robert sweeps the leeks he has been cutting into the soup.

“You should know that you always try. I have not found a world in which you do not try. I have also been unsuccessful in finding a world in which you succeed.”

“I always…I always try.”

“Yes. But Comstock always finds out. He always sends Fink to kill us. Fink always kills us.” She grimaces. “And worse.”

Robert is staring down at the tile, his breathing shallow. He speaks in a monotone. “How much do you know, Rosalind?”

“The question is not how much I know. I know nothing. I see chances, probabilities, possible outcomes.”

“What if we,” he chokes on the words, “kill the girl? What if we kill Comstock?”

“There are worlds where you kill Elizabeth. All it seems to do is inflame Comstock’s ire and he attacks New York City without preamble. Columbia is then overtaken and blown out of the sky over the Atlantic.”

“And killing Comstock?”

“In all of the worlds I’ve seen, the girl takes power, and the same outcome occurs.”

He takes her hands. “Do we have a chance, Rosalind? What if we leave Columbia?”

“I…looked for that. We succeed, at first. We go where no one knows us and…we live openly as man and wife. Comstock always finds us, though, and brings us back.”

The sweetness of the possibility floods Robert’s mind, but he shakes it off, knowing that it will not help in the present discussion. 

“Do we ever succeed?”

Rosalind shrugs. “I have not seen it, but that does not mean that there is not a vanishingly small chance that we will succeed. Which is not quite the same thing, but for all practical purposes it might as well be.”

“How does one react to being told that one will fail?”

“And already has failed, in a thousand thousand worlds.”

A smell of burning fills the room and he realizes that the soup has boiled over. He moves it to the furthest burner, then steps back to Rosalind.

“I notice you said we.”

“I-yes. I suppose I did.”

Robert smiles. It is the saddest smile Rosalind has ever seen on his usually cheerful face.

“You say that we die regardless.”

“Yes.”

“Then do this last thing for me.”


	31. Chapter 31

Constants and Variables, Chapter 31  
October 31, 1909

They had spent the last two weeks preparing.

They had arranged the house to suggest the most common seating and working patterns in which they had engaged, with an eye towards posterity. 

Their favorite records were by the phonograph, and the house was filled with music during every waking hour.

They had made love, more times than they could count, each time feeling like the last, until their energy was spent and their bodies sore.

They had spent a merry evening around the fire last week with a bottle of whisky and a large bundle of their personal correspondence, watching its ashes swirl up the chimney.

They had rearranged the furniture, and cleaned, and swept.

And when Robert had quirked an eye at the bed, Rosalind had shrugged and given him a half-smile. 

Let them talk, he thought. We shall be dead.

****

On the thirty-first, they rose, and washed, and dressed, and broke their fast. The icebox and pantry were empty except for a few scones that they had reserved for this morning.

And the last day they spent reading on the couch in each other’s arms. 

The world had taken on a clarity not owed to the fineness of the evening by the time he stepped out of the house, dressed in dark clothing and carrying in his inside pocket the precious key that he had copied ages ago. 

They have studied the schedules of the guards and reduced the number of scientific staff on hand to ensure that he and the girl will have enough time to make it back to the laboratory. He has brought boy’s clothes for her, thinking that it will cut down on her chances of being noticed. He will have her change quickly and run before Songbird attacks.

Rosalind is waiting at home ready to open the tear, though shaking her head at the whole endeavor. He does not think he will succeed either, but if he is going to die regardless, then it is essential that he try.

He places his hand on the great steel door, feeling its warmth, thinking of the heat dispersing from the siphon’s components, ramifying through everything nearby, giving life to the metal under his touch. He bows his head in silent supplication to a God he only believes in at times such as these. 

Bright stars explode before his eyes, and the door fades away.

*****

Low voices and the smell of stale sweat, underneath that the metallic warmth of their laboratory. They have brought him home. He opens his eyes. 

The two men are nameless, faceless. They are the agents of the greater forces at work. They do not speak, but drop him inside the boundaries of the contraption. Rosalind is already there, leaning against one of the uprights, tapping her foot and humming a waltz.

A voice speaks from the front door. “Draw your weapons if you would, gentlemen. Don’t let them move, please. I am in no mood for heroics this evening.”

As the men train their pistols on them, Fink walks in and goes directly to the contraption. He takes out a sheet of notes, puts on his glasses and a pair of heavy rubber gloves, chooses a wrench from the table, and starts making adjustments.

“I can’t say I don’t take a certain pleasure in this act, considering the trouble you’ve both given me over the years. I would have done it for half of what I’m being paid, though I’m not about to let Comstock know that.”

“And what was the cost of our lives, Jeremiah?” Rosalind asks quietly.

“Your patents. All of them. And the Science Authority comes under my direct control.”

Rosalind was expecting the first, it seems, but not the second. Her grief passes, though, and the neutral look returns.

Fink finishes his checklist, and goes over it one more time. “All right, gentlemen. Please wait outside. You’re too useful for me to risk your lives as well.”

The men exit. Fink draws a large revolver as they step out the door and keeps them in the sights. “Well. Time is money, they say. Turn on the machine, Rosalind.”

Robert goes to turn it on, but “Ah, no, Mr. Lutece. I would like your sister to do this.”

Rosalind looks at Fink. He gestures with the gun. Then she reaches out her hand and pulls down the lever like she has killed them a thousand times.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end, y'all. Thanks for reading and if you want more please come follow me at quantumlevitation.tumblr.com. Ginger snaps and speed infusions for all!

It is a new world with memories of the old tucked in its nooks and crannies. In each thing he sees its genesis, and life, and death. 

He is outside of time and space, and can examine the awkward patterns that are woven on the back of perception, like the backs of the pieces of embroidery that their mother worked.

He sees where the constants are, beacons of stillness in the gently lapping ocean of the world.

Robert is threading through all of his memories, though some of them seem to be Rosalind’s, and some of them seem to be of other men named Robert Lutece. 

When he feels fully awake, he is able to think of Rosalind – his Rosalind – and she is there. He is pleased to know that he can gather her in. 

She is taking notes on a notebook that – he knows – she has pulled out of time. He tries it himself with a passing leaf, and pulls it out from where its life undulates before him, and it is real, and singular, and with him. Then he lets it go, and it loops endlessly, from bud to crushed particles.

There is no longer a now – unless he wants it – and there is no longer a then – unless he wants it – and what he does know is that he wants to keep Rosalind, he wonders if she is here with him. She comes, then fades away. She comes to him as a red-haired, pigtailed child. She comes to him as an old woman, sick and dying. She is all of these things, and none of these things, and then she is standing in front of him, and he is all of these things and none of these things at once. 

She reaches her hand out and takes his. It is the first thing he has felt in days, and it cheers him to realize that, perhaps, there are some things that he might be permitted to keep. A tear runs down his face, unbidden.

And the world dissolves to a pinpoint, and they are looking down at their bodies, smoking and blackened. 

“I do not think we are dead, brother. Those are surely our bodies, but I believe in casting them off we have become, simultaneously, all of our possible selves. And none of them.”

“Rosalind, I am quite certain…”

“…that we will be able to have our revenge…”

“…on not just this Comstock…”

“…but on every possible one…”

He feels her thoughts in his. They have a different texture, a different shine. He sees himself for the first time through her eyes, and he knows that she is seeing herself through his, and it is bliss. He knows how much he loves her, and how much she loves him. 

He understands that their love is a variable, and he cherishes it even more for knowing. He sees the worlds in which they are apart, in which they never meet. He sees the worlds in which he hurts her, driving her away, as well as the reverse. He sees worlds in which they pass each other, precisely once, on the street, and never see each other again, but think of the other every day.

He understands that in this vast shifting sea of endings that there are few things to hold, and even fewer worth holding.

He understands that all things are both constants and variables. They are now beyond that consideration, though, in the same way that a man’s grade school triumphs do not preoccupy him on his deathbed.

He sees the thing that they are about to undertake. It is of a different tone than the rest of his perceptions. It is shifting beyond the shifting that is taking place all around him at all moments.

He thinks of his work, before the end. Child’s play, he thinks.

He feels a pulse from Rosalind’s mind. “This will be…”

“…an experiment beyond what either of us have ever dreamed…”

He kisses her, and the kiss spirals off to become an infinite number of kisses, rippling through time.


End file.
